THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 


Richard  Petrie 


WOMAN  ON  HER  OWN,  FALSE  GODS 
AND  THE  RED  ROBE :  THREE  PLAYS 
BY   BRIEUX 


WOMAN  ON  HER  OWN,  FALSE 
GODS  AND  THE  RED  ROBE: 
THREE  PLAYS  BY  BRIEUX. 
THE  ENGLISH  VERSIONS  BY  MR? 
BERNARD  SHAW,  J.  F.  FAGAN, 
AND  A.  BERNARD  MIALL.  WITH 
AN  INTRODUCTION  BY  BRIEUX 


BRENTANO'S     •     NEW    YORK 
MCMXVI 


Copyright,  1916,  by  Brentano's 


THE  UNIVERSITY   PRESS,   CAMBRIDGE,    U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 

Preface  ........  vii 

Woman  On  Her  Own      .....  1 

False  Gods     ••....,  127 

The  Red  Robe 219 


8552G7 


PREFACE 

We  are  confronted  at  the  present  time  by  the  woman 
who  is  anxious  to  lay  by  means  for  her  own  support 
irrespective  of  the  protection  of  her  husband.  In  this 
play  I  have  indicated  the  tendency  of  this  difficulty  and 
the  consequent  troubles  which  the  older  civilizations 
will  bring  upon  themselves  when  the  woman's  standing 
as  a  worker  is  generally  acknowledged.  My  conclusion, 
namely,  that  all  these  complications  and  troubles  are,  at 
present  at  any  rate,  owing  to  the  education  of  the  man, 
points  to  the  remedy,  as  far  as  I  can  see  it. 

I  must  inform  my  readers  that  the  version  of 
La  Femme  Seule,  a  translation  of  which  is  now 
published  in  this  volume,  has,  so  far,  not  appeared  in 
France  and  is  unknown  there;  at  least  as  regards  the 
larger  part  of  the  third  act.  I  might,  did  I  think  it 
advisable,  reproduce  in  its  entirety  a  text  which  certain 
timidities  have  led  me  to  emasculate. 

As  between  the  man  and  the  woman  the  ideal 
situation  would,  no  doubt,  be  a  rehabilitation  of  the  old 
custom  —  the  man  at  the  workshop  and  the  woman 
in  the  home ;  thus  reserving  for  her  the  holiest  and  most 
important  of  all  missions  —  the  one  which  insures  the 
future  of  the  race  by  her  enlightened  care  of  the  moral 
and  physical  health  of  her  children. 

Unfortunately  it  happens  that  the  wages  of  the  work- 
ing-man are  insufficient  for  the  support  of  a  family,  and 
the  poor  woman  is  therefore  compelled  to  go  to  the 
factory.     The    results    are    deplorable.     The    child    is 


viii  Preface 

either  entirely  abandoned,  or  given  to  the  State,  and  the 
solidarity  of  the  family  suffers  in  consequence. 

Then  again  a  generation  of  women  with  new  ideas  has 
arisen,  who  think  they  should  have,  if  they  wish  it,  the 
right  to  live  alone  and  by  themselves,  without  a  hus- 
band's protection.  However  much  some  of  us  may  re- 
gret this  attitude,  it  is  one  which  must  be  accepted, 
since  I  cannot  believe  that  the  worst  tyrants  would 
dare  to  make  marriage  obligatory.  These  women  have 
a  right  to  live,  and  consequently  a  right  to  work.  Also 
there  are  the  widows  and  the  abandoned  women. 

Women  first  took  places  which  seemed  best  fit  for 
them,  and  which  the  men  turned  over  to  them  because 
the  work  appeared  to  be  of  a  character  suitable  to  the 
feminine  sex.  But  the  modern  woman  has  had  enough 
of  the  meagre  salary  which  is  to  be  obtained  by  means 
of  needle-work,  and  she  has  invaded  the  shop,  the 
office,  the  desks  of  the  banks  and  post  office.  In  in- 
dustry also  she  has  taken  her  place  by  the  side  of  the 
working-man,  who  has  made  room  for  her  first  with 
ironical  grace,  then  with  grumbling,  and  sometimes  with 
anger.  I  believe  that  in  Europe  at  least  this  kind  of 
difficulty  will  have  to  be  faced  in  the  future. 

As  to  the  rich  woman  (and  in  La  Femme  Seule  I 
have  treated  this  subject  only  slightly  because  it  is  one 
to  which  I  expect  to  come  back),  they  have  been  driven 
from  the  home  where  the  progress  of  domestic  science 
has  left  them  very  little  to  do.  We  have  reached  a  kind 
of  hypocritical  form  of  State  Socialism,  or  perhaps  it 
would  be  better  to  say  Collectivism,  and  this  will  pro- 
foundly change  the  moral  outlook.  All,  or  nearly  all,  of 
the  work  of  the  home  seems  to  be  done  by  people  from 
the  outside  —  from  the  cleaning  of  the  windows  to  the 
education  of  the  children.  The  modern  home  is  but 
a  fireside  around  which  one  hardly  sees  the  family 
gathered  for  intimate  talk. 


Preface  ix 

It  has  thus  happened  that  the  woman  who  finds  her- 
self without  work,  and  with  several  children,  looks  out 
of  the  windows  of  her  home  away  from  it  for  the  em- 
ployment of  her  activities.  The  future  will  tell  us 
whether  or  no  this  is  good.  In  my  opinion  I  believe  it 
will  be  good,  and  I  believe  that  man  will  gain,  through 
this  new  intelligence,  in  the  direction  of  the  larger  life 
which  has  come  to  women  from  this  necessity  of  theirs. 
Unquestionably  there  will  have  to  be  a  new  education, 
and  this  will  certainly  come. 

La  Foi.  —  This  play  is,  without  doubt,  of  all  my 
plays  the  one  which  has  cost  me  the  most  labor  and  the 
one  upon  which  I  have  expended  the  most  thought  and 
time.  The  impulse  to  write  it  came  to  me  at  Lourdes 
in  view  of  the  excited,  suffering,  and  praying  crowds  of 
people.  When  the  thought  of  writing  it  came  to  me  I 
hesitated,  but  during  many  years  I  added  notes  upon 
notes.  And  it  was  while  on  a  trip  to  Egypt  that  I  saw 
the  possibility  for  discussing  such  questions  in  the 
theatre  without  giving  offence  to  various  consciences. 
My  true  and  illustrious  friend,  Camille  Saint-Saens,  has 
been  kind  enough  to  underline  my  prose  with  his  ad- 
mirable music.  In  this  way  La  Foi  has  been  produced 
on  the  stage  at  Monte  Carlo  for  the  first  time  imder  the 
aaspices  of  His  Royal  Highness  the  Prince  of  Monaco, 
whom  I  now  beg  to  thank. 

English  readers  of  La  Robe  Rouge  would,  I  think,  be 
somewhat  misled,  if  they  did  not  understand  the  differ- 
ence between  the  procedure  in  criminal  cases  in  France 
and  in  Great  Britain.  My  purpose  in  this  preface  is  to 
attempt  to  show  that  difference  in  a  few  words. 

With  you,  a  criminal  trial  is  conducted  publicly  and 
before  a  jury;  with  us  in  France  it  is  carried  on  in  the 
Chambers  of  the  Judge  with  only  the  lawyer  present. 
There  sometimes  result  from  this  latter  method  dramas 
of  the  kind  of  which  my  play  La  Robe  Rouge  is  one. 


X  Preface 

The  judge,  too  directly  interested  and  free  of  the  criti- 
cism which  might  fall  on  him  from  the  general  public, 
is  liable  to  the  danger  of  forming  for  himself  an  opinion 
as  to  the  guilt  of  the  accused.  He  may  do  this  in  per- 
fect good  faith,  but  sometimes  runs  the  risk  of  falling 
into  grave  error.  It  thus  occasionally  happens  that  he 
is  anxious  not  so  much  to  know  the  truth  as  to  prove 
that  he  was  right  in  his  own,  often  rash,  opinion. 

La  Robe  Rouge  is  a  criticism  of  certain  judicial  pro- 
ceedings which  obtain  in  France ;  but  it  is  also  a  study 
of  an  individual  case  of  professional  crookedness.  We 
should  be  greatly  mistaken  were  we  to  draw  the  danger- 
ous conclusion  that  all  French  judges  resemble  Mouzon, 
and  we  should  be  equally  wrong  were  we  to  condemn 
too  hastily  the  French  code  relating  to  criminal  trials. 

In  the  struggle  of  society  with  the  criminal  it  is  very 
difficult,  perhaps  impossible,  for  the  legislator  to  hold  in 
equal  balance  the  rights  of  the  individual  as  against 
the  interests  of  society.  The  balance  sometimes  leans 
one  way  and  sometimes  the  other;  and  had  I  been  an 
English  citizen,  instead  of  writing  a  play  against  the 
abuse  of  justice  by  a  judge,  I  might  have  had  to  illus- 
trate the  same  abuse  by  the  lawyer. 

I  wish  most  sincerely  that  these  three  plays  may  in- 
terest the  people  of  England  and  America.  The  prob- 
lems which  I  have  studied  I  am  sure  I  have  not  brought 
to  their  final  solutions.  My  ambition  was  to  draw  and 
keep  the  attention  of  honest  people  on  them  by  means 
of  the  theatre. 

BRIEUX. 


WOMAN   ON   HER   OWN 

[La  Femme  Seule] 

Translated  by  Mrs.  Bernard  Shaw 


CHARACTERS 

Thebese 

Madame  Nerisse 

Madame  Gueret 

Mother  Bougne 

Caroline  Legrand 

Madame  Chanteuil 

lucienne 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire 

Mademoiselle  Baron 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot 

Antoinette 

Berthe 

Constance 

Maid 

Workwomen 

Nerisse 

Feliat 

Rene  Chabton 

Gueret 

Mafflu 

Vincent 

A  Delegate 

Page  Boy 

GiRARD 

Charpin 

Deschaume 

Workmen 


WOMAN    ON    HER    OWN 


ACT    I 

Scene  :  —  A  Louis  XV  sitting-room.  To  the  right  a 
large  recessed  window  with  small  panes  of  glass  which 
forms  a  partition  dividing  the  sitting-room  from  an  inner 
room.  A  heavy  curtain  on  the  further  side  shuts  out  this 
other  room.  There  are  a  table  and  piano  and  doors  to 
the  right  and  at  the  back.  The  place  is  in  disorder.  One 
of  the  panes  in  the  large  window  has  been  taken  out  and 
replaced  by  a  movable  panel.     It  is  October. 

Madame  Gueret  is  sitting  at  a  table.  She  is  a  woman 
of  forty-five,  dressed  for  the  afternoon,  cold  and  dis- 
tinguished looking.  Monsieur  Gueret,  who  is  with  her, 
is  about  fifty-five  and  is  wearing  a  frock  coat.  He  is 
standing  beside  his  wife. 

Gueret.  Then  you  really  don't  want  me  to  go  and 
hear  the  third  act? 

Madame  Gueret  [dryly]  I  think  as  I  've  been  let 
in  for  these  theatricals  solely  to  please  your  goddaugh- 
ter you  may  very  well  keep  me  company.  Besides,  my 
brother  is  coming  back  and  he  has  something  to  say  to 
you. 

Gueret  [resignedly]     Very  well,  my  dear. 

A  pause. 

Madame  Gueret.    I  can't  get  over  it. 

Gueret.     Over  what.'' 

Madame  Gueret.  What  we  're  doing.  What  are 
we  doing? 

Gueret.  We  're  giving  a  performance  of  Barberine 
for  the  amusement  of  our  friends.  There  's  nothing 
very  extraordinary  in  that. 

S 


4  Woman  on  Her  Own  Act  I 

Madame  Gueret.  Don't  make  fun  of  me,  please. 
What  we  are  doing  is  simply  madness.  Madness,  do 
you  hear.''  And  it  was  the  day  before  yesterday  —  only 
the  day  before  yesterday  —  we  heard  the  news. 

Gueret.    We  — 

Madame  Gueret  [wAo  has  seen  Lucienne  come  in] 
Hush! 

Lucienne  comes  in,  a  girl  of  twenty,  dressed  as  Bar- 
berine  from  Musset's  play ;  then  Maud,  Nadia,  and  An- 
toinette [eighteen  to  twenty-two^,  dressed  as  followers 
of  the  queen.  Lucienne  goes  to  the  piano,  takes  a  piece 
of  music,  and  comes  to  Madame  Gueret. 

Lucienne.  You  '11  help  me  along,  won't  you,  dear 
Madame  Gueret  ?  You  '11  give  me  my  note  when  it 
comes  to  "Voyez  vous  pas  que  la  nuit  est  profonde".'* 

Madame  Gueret.     Now  don't  be  nervous. 

Maud   [coming  in]     We  're  ready. 

Antoinette.  If  the  third  act  only  goes  as  well  as 
the  first  two  — 

Maud.    We  '11  listen  until  we  have  to  go  on. 

Antoinette.     Won't  you  come  with  us,  Madame.'' 

Madame  Gueret.  No,  I  can't.  I  've  had  to  under- 
take the  noises  behind  the  scenes.  That  job  might  have 
been  given  to  someone  else,  I  think. 

Lucienne.  Oh,  Madame,  please  don't  be  angry  with 
us.  Madame  Chain  let  us  know  too  late.  And  you  're 
helping  us  so  much. 

Madame  Gueret.  Well,  I  've  invited  the  people, 
and  I  suppose  I  must  entertain  them.  As  I  gave  in  to 
Therese  about  getting  up  this  play,  I  don't  want  to  do 
anything  to  spoil  the  evening. 

Lucienne.     How  pretty  she  is  as  Kalekairi. 

Madame  Gueret.  You  don't  think  people  are 
shocked  by  her  frock? 

Lucienne.     Oh,  Madame ! 

Madame  Gueret.     Well ! 


Act  I  Woman  on  Her  Own  5 

LuciENNE.  I  shall  have  to  go  in  a  moment. 
Theresa  has  come  out;  I  can  hear  her  sequins  rattling. 

Madame  Gueret.  Yes ;  so  can  I.  But  Rene  will  let 
us  know.     Never  mind. 

She  goes  to  the  piano.  Rene  appears  at  the  door  at 
the  hack. 

Rene.    Are  you  ready,  Lucienne? 

LuciENNE.     Yes. 

Rene.     You  've  only  two  lines  to  say. 

Lucienne.  Only  one.  \^She  speaks  loio  to  Rene] 
No  end  of  a  success,  was  n't  it,  for  your  Therese  ? 

Rene  [low]  Wasn't  it?  I  am  so  happy,  Lucienne, 
I  love  her  so. 

Lucienne.     Listen.     That 's  for  me,  I  think. 

Rene.  Yes,  that's  for  you.  Wait.  [He  goes  to 
the  door  at  the  back,  listens,  and  returns]  Come. 
Turn  this  way  so  as  to  make  it  sound  as  if  you  were  at  a 
distance.     Now  then. 

Madame  Gueret  accompanies  Lucienne  on  the  piano. 

Lucienne  [sings] 

Beau  chevalier  qui  partez  pour  la  guerre, 
Qu'allez  vous  faire 
Si  loin  d'ici .'' 

Voyez-vous  pas  que  la  nuit  est  profonde 
Et  que  le  monde 
N'est  que  souci. 

Madame  Gueret  [civilly]  You  have  a  delightful 
voice,  Mademoiselle  Lucienne. 

Lucienne  places  her  music  on  the  piano  with  a  smile  to 
Madame  Gtieret. 

Rene  [to  Lucienne,  drawing  her  to  the  partition  win- 
dow and  showing  her  where  a  pane  has  been  removed] 
And  your  little  window!  Have  you  seen  your  little 
window  ?     It  was  not  there  at  the  dress  rehearsal.     You 


6  Woman  on  Her  Own  Act  I 

lift  it  like  this.  It 's  supposed  to  be  an  opening  in  the 
wall.  It  ought  to  have  been  different;  we  were  obliged 
to  take  out  a  pane.     May  I  show  her,  Madame  Gueret? 

Madame  Gueret  [resigned]     Yes,  yes,  of  course. 

Rene.  You  lift  it  like  this;  and  to  speak  you  '11  lean 
forward,  won't  you,  so  that  they  may  see  you? 

Lucienne.     I  will,  yes. 

Rene.  Don't  touch  it  now.  [To  Madame  Gueret] 
You  won't  forget  the  bell,  will  you,  Madame  .f*  There  's 
plenty  of  time  —  ten  minutes  at  least.  I  '11  let  you 
know.     Mademoiselle  Lucienne,  now,  time  to  go  on. 

Lucienne.     Yes,  yes.      [She  goes  out] 

Madame  Gueret  [with  a  sigh]  To  have  a  play  be- 
ing acted  in  the  circumstances  we  're  in  —  it 's  beyond 
everything!     I  cannot  think  how  I  came  to  allow  it. 

Gueret.  You  see  they  'd  been  rehearsing  for  a 
week.     And  Therese  — 

Madame  Gueret.  And  I  not  only  allowed  it,  but  I  'm 
almost  taking  part  in  it. 

Gueret.  We  could  n't  put  off  all  these  people  at 
twenty-four  hours'  notice.  And  it 's  our  last  party. 
It 's  really  a  farewell  party.  Besides,  we  should  have 
had  to  tell  Therese  everything. 

Madame  Gueret.  Well,  you  asked  me  to  keep  it  all 
from  her  until  to-morrow  —  though  it  concerns  her  as 
much  as  it  does  us.  [Monsieur  Feliat  comes  in,  a  man 
of  sixty,  correct  without  being  elegant]  Here  's  my 
brother. 

Feliat.  I  've  something  to  tell  you.  Shall  we  be 
interrupted? 

Madame  Gueret.     Yes,  constantly. 

Feliat.     Let 's  go  into  another  room. 

Madame  Gueret.  I  can't.  And  all  the  rooms  are 
full  of  people. 

Gueret.  Marguerite  has  been  good  enough  to  help 
here  by  taking  the  place  of  Madame  Chain,  who  's  ill. 


Act  I  Woman  on  Her  Own  7 

Madame  Gueret  [angrily]  Yes,  I  've  got  to  do  the 
noises  heard  off !  At  my  age !  [A  sigh]  Tell  us, 
Etienne,  what  is  it? 

Gueret.     We  can  wait  until  the  play  is  over. 

Madame  Gueret.  So  like  you !  You  don't  care  a 
bit  about  what  my  brother  has  to  tell  us.  Who  'd  ever 
believe  this  is  all  your  fault!  [To  her  brother]  What 
is  it."* 

Feliat.  I  have  seen  the  lawyer.  Your  goddaughter 
will  have  to  sign  this  power  of  attorney  so  that  it  may 
get  to  Lyons  tormorrow  morning. 

Gueret  [zvho  has  glanced  at  the  paper]  But  we 
can't  get  her  to  sign  that  without  telling  her  all  about 
it. 

Madame  Gueret.  Well,  goodness  me,  she  '11  have 
to  know  sometime !  I  must  say  I  cannot  understand 
the  way  you  've  kept  this  dreadful  thing  from  her.  It 's 
pure  sentimentality. 

Gueret.     The  poor  child  ! 

Madame  Gueret.  You  really  are  ridiculous.  One 
would  think  that  it  was  only  her  money  the  lawyer 
took.      It 's  gone,  of  course;  but  so  is  ours. 

Gueret.     We  still  have  La  Tremblaye. 

Madame  Gueret.  Yes,  thank  goodness,  because  La 
Tremblay  belongs  to  me. 

Rene  comes   in   in  great   excitement. 

Rene.  Where  is  Mademoiselle  Therese  .^  She  '11  keep 
the  stage  waiting !  [Listening]  No,  she  's  coming,  I 
hear  her.  Nice  fright  she's  given  me!  [To  Madame 
Gueret]  Above  all,  Madame,  don't  forget  the  bell,  al- 
most the  moment  that  Mademoiselle  Therese  comes  off 
the  stage. 

Madame  Gueret.     Yes,  yes. 

Rene.     And  my  properties !      [He  runs  out] 

Feliat.    Now  we  can  talk  for  a  minute. 

Madame  Gueret.     Yes. 


8  Woman  on  Her  Own         Act  I 

ft 

Feliat.  You  've  quite  made  up  your  minds  to  come  to 
Evreux  ? 

GuERET.     Quite. 

Feliat.    Are  you  sure  you  won't  regret  Paris  ? 

Madame  Gueret.    Oh,  no. 

GuERET.     For  the  last  two  years  I  've  hated  Paris. 

Madame  Gueret.     Since  you  began  to  play  cards. 

GuERET.  For  the  last  two  years  we  've  had  the 
greatest  difficulty  in  keeping  up  appearances.  This 
lawyer  absconding  is  the  last  blow. 

Feliat.  Are  n't  you  afraid  you  will  be  horribly 
bored  at  La  Tremblaye? 

Gueret  [rising]     What  are  we  to  do? 

Feliat.     Well,  now  listen  to  me.     I  told  you  — 

Rene  comes  in  and  takes  something  off  a  table. 
Feliat  stops  suddenly. 

Rene.     Good-morning,  uncle.      [He  hurries  out] 

Feliat.     Good-morning,  Rene. 

Gueret.     He  knows  nothing  about  it  yet.'* 

Feliat.  No;  and  my  sister-in-law  asked  me  to  tell 
him. 

Madame  Gueret.  Well,  why  shouldn't  you.''  If 
they  are  engaged,  we  know  nothing  about  it. 

Gueret.     Oh ! 

Madame  Gueret.  We  know  nothing  officially,  be- 
cause in  these  days  young  people  don't  condescend  to 
consult  their  parents. 

Feliat.  Rene  told  his  people  and  they  gave  their 
consent. 

Madame  Gueret.     Unwillingly. 

Feliat.  Oh  certainly,  unwillingly.  Then  I  'm  to 
tell  him? 

Madame  Gueret.     The  sooner  the  better. 

Feliat.     I  '11  tell  him  to-night. 

Gueret.  I  'm  afraid  it  '11  be  an  awful  blow  to  the 
poor  chap. 


Act  I  Woman  on  Her  Own  9 

Madame  Gueret.  Oh,  he  's  young.  He  '11  get  over 
it. 

Feliat.  What  was  I  saying  when  he  came  in?  Ah, 
yes ;  you  know  I  Ve  decided  to  add  a  bindery  to  my 
printing  works  at  Evreux;  you  saw  the  building  started 
when  you  were  down  there.  If  things  go  as  I  want 
them  to,  I  shall  try  to  do  some  cheap  artistic  binding. 
I  want  to  get  hold  of  a  man  who  won't  rob  me  to  man- 
age this  new  branch  and  look  after  it;  a  man  who 
won't  be  too  set  in  his  ideas,  because  I  want  him  to  , 
adopt  mine ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  I  'd  like  him  to  be  not 
altogether  a  stranger.  I  thought  I  'd  found  him ;  but  I 
saw  the  man  yesterday  and  I  don't  like  him.  Now  will 
you  take  on  the  job?     Would  it  suit  you? 

Gueret.  Would  it  suit  me!  Oh,  my  dear  Feliat, 
how  can  I  possibly  thank  you?  To  tell  you  the  truth, 
I  've  been  wondering  what  in  the  world  I  should  do 
with  myself  now ;  and  I  was  dreading  the  future.  What 
you  offer  me  is  better  than  anything  I  could  have 
dreamt  of.     What  do  you  say,  Marguerite? 

Madame  Gueret.     I  am  delighted. 

Feliat.     Then  that 's  all  right. 

Gueret  [fo  his  brother-in-law]  I  think  you  won't 
regret  having  confidence  in  me. 

Feliat.     And  your  goddaughter? 

Madame  Gueret.     Therese? 

Feliat.  Yes;  how  is  she  going  to  face  this  double 
news  of  her  ruin  and  the  breaking  off  of  her  engage- 
ment? 

Madame  Gueret.  I  think  she  ought  to  have  sense 
enough  to  understand  that  one  is  the  consequence  of 
the  other.  She  can  hardly  expect  Rene's  parents  to 
give  their  son  to  a  girl  without  money. 

Feliat.  I  suppose  not.  But  what 's  to  become  of 
her? 

Gueret.     She  will  live  with  us,  of  course. 


10  Woman  on  Her  Own  Act  I 

Madame  Gueret.     "Of  course" !       I  like  that. 

GuERET.  She  has  no  other  relations,  and  her  father 
left  her  in  my  care. 

Madame  Gueret.  He  left  her  in  your  care,  and  it 's 
/  who  have  been  rushed  into  all  the  trouble  of  a  child 
who  is  nothing  to  me. 

Gueret.  Child !  She  was  nineteen  when  her  father 
died. 

F  ELI  AT.  To  look  after  a  young  girl  of  nineteen  is  a 
very  great  responsibility. 

Madame  Gueret  [laughing  bitterly']  Ho!  Ho!  Look 
after !  Look  after  Mademoiselle  Therese !  You  think 
she  's  a  person  who  allows  herself  to  be  looked  after ! 
And  yet  you  've  seen  her  more  or  less  every  holidays. 

Gueret.  You  've  not  had  to  look  after  her ;  she  has 
been  at  the  Lycee. 

Therese  comes  in  dressed  as  Kalekairi  from  "Bar- 
herine."  She  is  a  pretty  girl  of  twenty-three,  healthy, 
and  bright. 

Therese.  The  bell,  the  bell,  godmother!  You're 
forgetting  the  bell !     Good-evening,  Monsieur  Feliat. 

Therese  takes  up  the  bell,  which  is  on  the  table. 

Madame  Gueret.  I  was  going  to  forget  it !  Oh, 
what  a  nuisance !     All  this  is  so  new  to  me. 

Feliat.  Excuse  me !  I  really  did  n't  recognize  you 
for  the  moment. 

Therese  [laughing]  Ah,  my  dress.  Startling, 
is  n't  it  ? 

Madame  Gueret  [with  meaning]  Startling  is  the 
right  word. 

Rene  [appearing  at  the  back,  disappearing  again 
immediately,  and  calling]  The  bell !  And  you,  on  the 
stage,  Mademoiselle  Therese ! 

Therese.     I  'm  coming.     [She  rings]     Here  I  am! 
She  goes  out. 


Act  I  Woman  on  Her  Own  11 

Madame  Gueret  [with  a  sigh]  And  I  had  it  let 
down! 

Feliat.     What? 

Madame  Gueret.  Her  dress.  [To  her  husband] 
What  I  see  most  clearly  in  all  this  is  that  she  must  stay 
with  us. 

Rene  comes  fussing  in. 

Rene.  Where's  the  queen?  Where's  Madame 
Nerisse  ? 

Madame  Gueret.     I  've  not  seen  her. 

Rene.  But  goodness  gracious — !  [He  goes  to 
the  door  on  the  left  and  calls]      Madame  Nerisse ! 

Madame  Nerisse  [fi-om  outside]  Yes,  yes,  I  'm 
ready. 

Madame  Nerisse  comes  in.  She  is  about  forty, 
flighty,  and  a  little  affected. 

Rene.  I  wanted  to  warn  you  that  Ulric  will  be  on 
your  right,  and  if  he  plays  the  fool  — • 

Madame  Nerisse.     Very  well.     Is  it  time? 

Rene.  Yes,  come.  [To  Madame  Gueret]  You 
won't  forget  the  trumpets  ? 

Madame  Gueret.  No,  no.  All  the  same,  you  'd 
better  help  me. 

Rene.     I  will,  I  will. 

He  goes  out  with  Madame  Nerisse. 

Feliat.  You  know,  if  she  wants  one,  she  '11  find  a 
husband  at  Evreux. 

Madame  Gueret.     Without  a  penny ! 

Feliat.  Without  a  penny !  She  made  a  sensation 
at  the  ball  at  the  sous-prefecture.  She 's  extremely 
pretty. 

Madame  Gueret.     She  's  young. 

Feliat.     Monsieur  Gambard  sounded  me  about  her. 

Madame  Gueret.  Monsieur  Gambard!  The  Mon- 
sieur Gambard  who  has  the  house  with  the  big  garden? 

Feliat.     Yes. 


12  Woman  on  Her  Own  Act  I 

Madame  Gueret.     But  he  's  very  rich. 

Feliat.     He  's  forty-nine. 

Madame  Gueret.  She  '11  have  to  take  what  she  can 
get  now. 

Feliat.     And  I  think  that  Monsieur  Beaudoin  — 

Gueret.     But  he  's  almost  a  cripple ! 

Madame  Gueret.     She  would  n't  do  so  well  in  Paris. 

Gueret.     She  would  n't  look  at  either  of  them. 

Feliat.     We  must  try  and  make  her  see  reason. 

Rene  enters  busily.  Lucienne  follows  him.  Feliat 
is  standing  across  the  guichet  through  which  Barherine 
is  to  speak.     Rene  pulls  him  away  without  ceremony. 

Rene.  Excuse  me,  Uncle;  don't  stand  there  before 
the  little  window. 

Feliat.     Beg  pardon.     I  did  n't  know. 

Rene.     I  have  n't  a  moment. 

Feliat.  I  've  never  seen  you  so  busy.  At  your  of- 
fice they  say  you  're  a  lazy  dog. 

Madame  Gueret.  Probably  Rene  has  more  taste  for 
the  stage  than  for  business. 

Rene  [lauglmig]  Rather!  [To  Lucienne^  Now, 
it 's  time.     Come.     Lift  it.     Not  yet!     There!    Now! 

Lucienne  [speahing  through  the  guichet^  "  If  you 
want  food  and  drink,  you  must  do  like  those  old  women 
you  despise  —  you  must  spin." 

Rene.     Capital ! 

Lucienne  [to  Feliati  Please  forgive  me,  Monsieur, 
I  've  not  had  time  to  speak  to  you. 

Feliat.  Why,  it 's  Mademoiselle  Lucienne,  Therese's 
friend,  who  came  and  stayed  in  the  holidays !  Fancy 
my  not  recognizing  you  ! 

Lucienne.  It 's  my  dress.  I  do  like  playing  this 
part.  I  have  to  say  that  lovely  bit  —  you  know  —  the 
bit  that  describes  the  day  of  the  ideal  wife.  [She  re- 
cites, sentimentally]  "I  rise  and  go  to  prayers,  to  the 
farmyard,  to  the  kitchen.     I  prepare  your  meal;  I  go 


Act  I  Woman  on  Her  Own  13 

with  you  to  church;   I   read  a   page   or   two;   I   sew   a 
while;  and  then  I  fall  asleep  happy  upon  your  breast." 

Feliat.  That 's  good,  oh,  that 's  very  good !  Bar- 
berine  —  now,  who  wrote  that  ? 

LuciENNE.     Alfred  de  Musset. 

Feliat.  Ah,  yes;  to  be  sure,  Alfred  de  Musset.  I 
read  him  when  I  was  young.  You  often  find  his  works 
lying  about  in  pretty  bindings. 

Rene.  Uncle,  Uncle;  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  don't 
speak  so  loud.  We  can  hardly  hear  what  they  're  say- 
ing on  the  stage. 

Feliat  [very  politelyl     Sorry,  I  'm  sure. 

Rene  [to  Lucienne^      You.     Now. 

LuciENNE  [speaking  through  the  guichet^  "My 
lord,  these  cries  are  useless.  It  grows  late.  If  you 
wish  to  sup  —  you  must  spin"  [turning  to  the  others^ 
There!     Now  I  must  go  over  the  rest  with  Ulric. 

She  runs  out,  with  a  little  wave  of  adieu  to  Feliat. 

Rene  [to  Madame  Gueret]  The  trumpets,  Madame. 
Don't  forget. 

Madame  Gueret.     No,  no.    Don't  worry. 
Rene  goes  out. 

Feliat.     You  blow  trumpets  ? 

Madame  Gueret.    Yes;  on  the  piano. 

Feliat.  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  myself.  I 
don't  want  to  be  in  the  way.  I  'm  not  accustomed  to 
being  behind  the  scenes. 

Madame  Gueret.     Nor  am  I. 

Therese  comes  in  in  the  Kalekairi  dress,  followed  by 
Rene. 

Therese.     It 's  time  for  me  now. 

Feliat  [to  Madame  Gueret]  She  really  looks  like  a 
professional  actress. 

Rene  [to  Therese']     Now! 

Therese  [speaking  through  the  little  window]  "My 
lady  says,  as  you  will  not  spin,  you  cannot  sup.     She 


14  Woman  on  Her  Own  Act  I 

thinks  you  are  not  hungry,  and  I  wish  you  good-night." 
[She  closes  the  little  window  and  says  gayly]  Good- 
evening,  Monsieur  Feliat. 

Rene.  Now  then,  come  along.  You  go  on  in  one 
minute. 

Therese  [to  Feliat]     I  '11  come  back  soon. 
She  goes  out. 

Rene  [to  Madame  Gueret]  Now,  Madame,  you. 
Quick,  Madame! 

Madame  Gueret.     Yes,  yes.     All  right. 

She  plays  a  flourish  of  trumpets  on  the  piano. 

Rene.     Splendid! 

Madame  Gueret.  Ouf !  It 's  over.  At  last  we  can 
have  peace !  If  she  's  such  a  fool  as  to  refuse  both 
these  men  — 

Gueret  [interrupting]  She  won't  refuse,  you  may 
be  sure. 

Madame  Gueret  [continuing]  —  we  shall  have  to 
keep  her  with  us.  But  I  shall  insist  upon  certain  con- 
ditions. 

Gueret.     What  conditions.^ 

Madame  Gueret.  I  won't  have  any  scandals  at 
Evreux. 

Gueret.     There  won't  be  any  scandals. 

Madame  Gueret.  No  ;  because  she  '11  have  to  be- 
have very  differently,  I  can  tell  you.  She  '11  have  to 
leave  all  these  fine  airs  of  independence  behind  her  in 
Paris. 

Gueret.     What  airs  ? 

Madame  Gueret.  Well,  for  instance,  getting  letters 
and  answering  them  without  any  sort  of  supervision ! 
[To  her  brother]  She  manages  in  such  a  way  that  I 
don't  even  see  the  envelopes!  [To  her  husband]  I  ob- 
ject very  much,  too,  to  her  student  ways. 

Gueret.  She  goes  to  classes  and  lectures  with  her 
girl  friends. 


Act  I  Woman  on  Her  Own  15 

Madame  Gueret.  Well,  she  won't  go  to  any  more. 
And  she  will  have  to  give  up  going  out  alone. 

Gueret.     She  's  of  age. 

Madame  Gueret.  A  properly  brought  up  young 
lady  is  never  of  age. 

Feliat.     Perfectly  true. 

Madame  Gueret.  And  there  must  be  a  change  in 
her  way  of  dressing. 

Gueret.  There  will.  She  '11  have  to  dress  simply, 
for  she  won't  have  a  rap. 

Madame  Gueret.  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
I  shall  make  her  understand  that  she  will  have  to  be- 
have like  the  other  girls  in  good  society. 

Feliat.     Of  course. 

Madame  Gueret.  I  shall  also  put  a  veto  on  certain 
books  she  reads.  [To  her  brother]  It's  really  dread- 
ful, Etienne.  You  've  no  idea !  One  day  I  found  a 
shocking  book  upon  her  table  —  a  horror !  What  do 
you  suppose  she  said  when  I  remonstrated.^  That  that 
disgraceful  book  was  necessary  in  preparing  for  her  ex- 
amination. And  the  worst  of  it  is,  it  was  true.  She 
showed  me  the  syllabus. 

Feliat.  I  'm  afraid  they  're  bringing  up  our  girls 
in  a  way  that  '11  make  unhappy  women  of  them. 

Madame  Gueret.  Don't  let's  talk  about  it;  you'll 
start  on  politics,  and  then  you  and  Henri  will  begin  to 
argue.  All  the  same  I  mean  to  be  very  good  to  lier. 
As  soon  as  she  knows  what  's  happened  her  poor  little 
pretensions  will  come  tumbling  about  her  ears.  I 
won't  leave  her  in  uncertainty,  and  even  before  she 
asks  I  '11  tell  her  she  may  stay  with  us ;  but  I  shall 
tell  her,  too,  what  I  expect  from  her  in  return. 

Gueret.     Would  n't  it  be  better  — 

Madame  Gueret.  My  dear,  I  shall  go  my  own  way. 
See  what  we  're  suffering  now  in  consequence  of  going 


16  Woman  on  Her  Own  Act  I 

yours.  Here 's  Madame  Nerisse.  Then  the  play  is 
over.  [To  her  husband^  You  must  go  and  look  after 
the  people  at  the  supper  table.  I  '11  join  you  in  a 
minute. 

GuERET.     All  right. 

He  goes  out. 

Madame  Nerisse.  I  've  hardly  ever  been  at  such 
a  successful  party.  I  wanted  to  congratulate  dear 
Therese,  but  she  's  gone  to  change  her  dress. 

Madame  Gueret  [absently^  So  glad.  Were  you 
speaking  of  having  a  notice  of  it  in  your  paper? 

Madame  Nerisse.  Of  your  play !  If  I  was  going  to 
notice  it !  I  should  think  so !  The  photographs  we 
had  taken  at  the  dress  rehearsal  are  being  developed. 
We  shall  have  a  wonderful  description. 

Madame  Gueret  [imploring']     Could  it  be  stopped? 

Madame  Nerisse.  It 's  not  possible !  Just  tliink 
how  amazed  the  subscribers  to  Feminine  Art  would  be 
if  they  found  nothing  in  their  paper  about  your  lovely 
jDerformance  of  Barberine,  even  if  the  editress  of  the 
paper  had  n't  taken  a  part  in  the  play.  If  it  only  de- 
pended on  me,  perhaps  I  could  find  some  way  out  — 
explain  it  in  some  way,  just  to  please  you.  But  then 
there  's  your  charming  Therese  —  one  of  our  contribu- 
tors. I  can't  tell  you  what  a  wonderful  success  she  's 
had  with  her  two  stories,  illustrated  by  herself. 
People  adore  her. 

Madame  Gueret.  Nobody  would  know  anything 
about  it  — 

Madame  Nerisse.  Nobody  know!  There  are  at 
least  ten  people  among  your  guests  who  will  send  de- 
scriptions of  this  party  to  the  biggest  morning  papers, 
simply  for  the  sake  of  getting  their  own  names  into 
print.  If  Feminine  Art  had  nothing  about  it,  it  would 
be  thought  extremely  odd,  I  assure  you.  [She  turns  to 
Feliat]     Would  n't  it,  Monsieur? 


Act  I  Woman  on  Her  Own  17 

Feliat,  Pardon  me,  Madame,  I  know  nothing  about 
these  things. 

Madame  Gueret.     Well,  we  '11  say  no  more  about  it. 

Madame  Nerisse.  But  what's  the  matter?  You 
must  have  some  very  good  reason  for  not  wanting  me 
to  put  in  anything  about  your  delightful  party. 

Madame  Gueret.  No  —  only  —  IHesitating^  Some 
of  our  family  are  country  people,  you  know.  It  would 
take  me  too  long  to  explain  it  all  to  you.  It  does  n't 
matter.  [With  a  change  of  tone}  Then  honestly  you 
think  Therese  has  some  little  talent? 

Madame  Nerisse.  Little  talent !  No,  but  very 
great  talent.     Have  n't  you  read  her  two  articles  ? 

Madame  Gueret.  Oh,  I?  I  belong  to  another  cen- 
tury. In  my  days  it  would  have  been  considered  a  very 
curious  thing  if  a  young  girl  wrote  novels.  My  brother 
feels  this  too.  By  the  way,  I  have  not  introduced  my 
brother  to  you.  Monsieur  Feliat,  of  Evreux  — 
Madame  Nerisse,  editress  of  Feminine  Art.  Madame 
Nerisse  has  been  kind  enough  to  help  us  with  our  little 
party.  [To  Madame  Nerisse]  Yes  —  you  were  speak- 
ing about  —  what  was  it  —  this  story  that  Therese  has 
written.  No  doubt  your  readers  were  indulgent  to  the 
work  of  a  little  amateur. 

Madame  Nerisse.  I  wish  I  could  find  professionals 
who  'd  do  half  as  well.  I  'm  perfectly  certain  the  number 
her  photograph  is  going  to  be  in  will  have  a  good  sale. 

Feliat,     You'll  publish  her  photograph? 

Madame  Nerisse.     In  her  dress  as  Kalekairi. 

Madame  Gueret.     In  her  dress  as  Kalekairi ! 

Madame  Nerisse.  On  the  front  page.  They  tell 
me  it 's  a  first-rate  likeness.  I  '11  bring  you  one  of 
them  before  long,  and  your  country  relations  will  be 
delighted.  If  you  '11  excuse  me,  I'll  hurry  away  and 
change  my  dress. 

Madame  Gueret.  Oh,  please  excuse  me  for  keeping 
you. 


18  Woman  on  Her  Own  Act  I 

Madame  Nerisse.  Good-bye  for  the  present.  [She 
goes  to  the  door]  I  was  looking  for  Maud  and  Nadia 
to  take  them  away  with  me.  I  see  them  over  there 
having  a  little  flirtation.  [She  looks  through  the  door 
and  speaks  pleasantly  to  Maud  and  Nadia,  who  are 
just  outside]  All  rights  all  right;  I  won't  inter- 
rupt. [To  Madame  Gueret]  They  'd  much  rather  come 
home  alone.  Good-bye.  [She  bows  to  Feliat]  Good- 
bye, Monsieur.  [Turning  again  to  Madame  Gueret] 
Don't  look  so  upset  because  you  have  a  goddaughter  who 
can  be  a  great  writer  or  a  great  painter  if  she  chooses ; 
just  as  she  would  have  been  a  great  actress  if  she  had 
taken  a  fancy  for  that.  Good-bye  again  and  many  con- 
gratulations. 

She  goes  out. 

Madame  Gueret.  Well !  Anyway,  she 's  not  my 
daughter !  I  must  go  and  say  good-bye  to  everybody. 
When  I  've  got  rid  of  them,  I  '11  come  back  and  see 
Therese.  Will  you  wait  for  me  ?  You  '11  find  some 
papers  on  that  little  table.  Oh,  goodness,  what  times 
we  live  in ! 

Madame  Gueret  goes  out.  Feliat,  left  alone,  strolls 
to  the  door  and  looks  in  the  direction  in  which  Madame 
Nerisse  had  seen  Maud  and  Nadia.  After  a  moment 
he  shows  signs  of  indignation. 

Feliat  [shocked]  Oh,  I  say,  this  is  really  —  I  must 
cough  or  something,  and  let  them  know  I  'm  here. 
[He  coughs]  They  've  seen  me.  They  're  waving 
their  hands  —  and  —  they  're  going  on  just  the  same  ! 

Lucienne  and  Therese  in  ordinary  dress  come  in  and 
notice  what  Feliat  is  doing. 

Therese  [to  Lucienne]     What  is  he  doing .^ 

Lucienne.     What 's  the  matter  ? 

They  advance  to  see  what  has  caused  his  pertur- 
bation.    He  hears  them  and  turns. 

Feliat.     It  is  incredible  ! 


Act  I  Woman  on  Her  Own  19 

Therese.  You  seem  rather  upset.  What 's  the  mat- 
ter? 

Feliat.  What's  the  matter?  Those  girls  are  be- 
having in  such  a  scandalous  way  with  those  young  men. 

LuciENNE.     Let 's  see. 

Feliat.  Oh,  don't  look !  [Suddenly  stopping,  half 
to  himself]      Though  I  must  say  — 

Therese  [laughing]      What  must  you  say? 

Feliat.     Nothing. 

Lucienne.  I  know.  You  mean  that  we  're  just  as 
bad. 

Feliat.     No,  no,  not  as  bad. 

Lucienne.  Yes,  yes ;  well  —  almost.  [Feliat  makes 
a  sign  of  protest]  I  saw  you  watching  us  yesterday 
after  the  rehearsal !  You  saw  I  was  flirting,  and  I 
know  you  imagined  all  sorts  of  horrid  things.  Our 
little  flirtations  are  not  what  you  think.  When  we 
flirt  we  play  at  love-making  with  our  best  boys,  just  as 
once  upon  a  time  we  played  at  mothering  with  our  dolls. 

Feliat.     But  that  doesn't  justify  — 

Therese.  You  don't  understand.  People  spoil  us 
while  we  're  children,  and  then  look  after  us  so  tre- 
mendously carefully  when  we  grow  up  that  we  guess 
there  must  be  delightful  and  dangerous  possibilities 
about  us.  Flirting  is  our  way  of  feeling  for  these  possi- 
bilities. 

Lucienne.     We  're  sharpening  our  weapons. 

Therese.  But  the  foils  have  buttons  on  them,  and 
the  pistols  are  only  loaded  with  powder. 

Lucienne.  And  it 's  extremely  amusing  and  does  no 
harm  to  anybody. 

Therese.  Monsieur  Feliat,  you  've  read  bad  books. 
Nowadays  girls  like  us  are  neither  bread-and-butter 
misses  nor  demi-vierges.  We  're  perfectly  respect- 
able young  people.  Quite  capable  and  self-possessed 
and,  at  the  same  time,  quite  straight  and  very  happy. 


20  Woman  on  Her  Own  Act  I 

Feliat.  I  'm  perfectly  sure  of  it,  my  dear  young 
ladies.  But  you  know  I  've  had  a  great  deal  of  ex- 
perience. 

Therese.     Oh,  experience!     Well,  you  know  — 

LuciENNE.     Oh,  experience! 

Therese.  You  say  you  have  experience;  that  only 
means  you  know  about  the  past  better  than  we  do. 
But  we  know  much  better  than  you  do  about  the  present. 

Feliat.  I  think  those  girls  there  are  playing  a  dan- 
gerous game. 

Therese.  You  need  n't  have  the  smallest  anxiety 
about  them. 

Feliat.  That  way  of  going  on  might  get  them  into 
great  trouble. 

Therese.  It  won't,  I  assure  you.  Monsieur  Feliat, 
believe  me,  you  know  nothing  about  it. 

LuciENNE.  We  're  clever  enough  to  be  able  to  take 
care  of  ourselves. 

Feliat.  But  there  are  certain  things  that  take  you 
by  storm. 

LuciENNE.  Not  us.  Flirting  is  an  amusement,  a 
distraction,  a  game. 

Therese.     Shall  we  say  a  safety  valve? 

LuciENNE.  There 's  not  a  single  one  of  us  who 
does  n't  understand  the  importance  of  running  straight. 
And,  to  do  them  justice,  these  boys  have  no  idea  of 
tempting  us  to  do  anything  else.  What  they  want, 
what  we  all  really  want,  is  a  quite  conventional,  satis- 
factory marriage. 

Feliat.  I  most  heartily  approve;  but  in  my  days 
so  much  wisdom  did  n't  usually  come  from  such  fasci- 
nating little  mouths. 

Therese.  Now  how  can  you  blame  us  when  you  see 
that  really  we  think  exactly  as  you  do  yourself? 

Feliat.     In  my  days  girls  went  neither  to  the  Lycee 


Act  I  Woman  on  Her  Own  21 

nor  to  have  gymnastic  lessons,  and  they  were  none  the 
less  straight. 

LuciENNE  [reflectively]  And  yet  they  grew  up  into 
the  women  of  to-day.  I  get  educated  and  try  to  keep 
myself  healthy,  with  exercises  and  things,  because  I 
want  to  develop  morally  and  physically,  and  be  fit  to 
marry  a  man  a  little  bit  out  of  the  ordinary  either  in  for- 
tune or  brains. 

Therese.  You  see  our  whole  lives  depend  upon  the 
man  we  marry. 

Feliat.     I  seem  to  have  heard  that  before. 

LuciENNE.  Yes;  so 've  I.  But  it's  none  the  less 
true  for  that. 

Therese.  Is  n't  it  funny  that  we  seem  to  be  saying 
the  most  shocking  things  when  we  're  only  repeating 
what  our  grandfathers  and  grandmothers  preached  to 
their  children.^ 

LuciENNE.  They  were  quite  right.  Love  does  n't 
make  happiness  by  itself.  One  has  to  consider  the  fu- 
ture. We  do  consider  it;  in  fact  we  do  nothing  else  but 
consider  it.  We  want  to  get  the  best  position  for  our- 
selves in  the  future  that  we  possibly  can.  We  're  not 
giddy  little  fools,  and  we  're  not  selfish  egotists.  We 
want  our  children  to  grow  up  happy  and  capable  as 
we  've  done  ourselves.     We  're  really  quite  reasonable. 

Feliat  [liardhi  able  to  contain  himself]  You  are; 
indeed  you  are.  It  makes  one  shudder.  Excuse  me, 
I  'm  going  to  supper. 

LuciENNE.     Let 's  all  go  together. 

Feliat.     Thanks,  I  can  find  my  way. 

LuciENNE.     It 's  down  that  passage  to  the  right. 

Feliat.     Yes,  I  shall  find  it,  thank  you. 

He  goes  out. 

Therese.     You  shocked  the  poor  old  boy. 

LuciENNE.     I  only  flavored  the  truth  just  enough  to 


22  Woman  on  Her  Own  Act  I 

make  it  tasty.  But  I  've  something  frightfully  im- 
portant to  tell  you.     It 's  settled. 

Therese.     What 's  settled .'' 

LuciENNE.     I  'm  engaged. 

Therese.     You  don't  say  so. 

LuciENNE.  It 's  done.  Armand  has  been  to  his 
people  and  they  've  come  to  see  mine.  So  I  need  n't 
play  any  more  piano,  nor  sing  any  more  sentimental 
songs ;  I  need  n't  be  clever  any  more,  nor  flirt  any  more, 
nor  languish  at  young  men  any  more.  And  how  do  you 
suppose  it  was  settled  ?  Just  what  one  would  n't  have 
ever  expected.  You  know  my  people  were  doing  all 
they  could  to  dress  me  up,  and  show  me  off,  and  seem  to 
be  richer  than  they  are,  so  as  to  attract  the  men.  On 
my  side  I  was  giving  myself  the  smartest  of  airs  and  pre- 
tending to  despise  money  and  to  think  of  nothing  but 
making  a  splash.  Everything  went  quite  differently 
from  what  I  expected.  I  wanted  to  attract  Armand,  and 
I  was  only  frightening  him  off.  He  thought  such  a 
woman  as  I  was  pretending  to  be  too  expensive.  It  was 
just  through  a  chance  conversation,  some  sudden  con- 
fidence on  my  part,  that  he  found  out  that  I  really  like 
quite  simple  things.  He  was  delighted,  and  he  pro- 
posed at  once. 

Therese.  Dear  Lucienne,  I  'm  so  glad.  I  hope 
you  '11  be  very,  very  happy. 

Lucienne.  Ah,  that 's  another  story.  Armand  is 
not  by  any  means  perfect.  But  what  can  one  do.^* 
The  important  thing  is  to  marry,  is  n't  it? 

Therese.  Of  course.  Well,  if  your  engagement  is 
on,  mine  's  off. 

Lucienne.  Therese!  Why  I've  just  been  talking 
to  Rene.  I  never  saw  him  so  happy,  nor  so  much  in 
love. 

Therese.  He  does  n't  know  yet.  Or  perhaps 
they  're  telling  him  now. 


Act  I  Woman  on  Her  Own  23 

LuciENNE.     Telling  him  what? 

Therese.     I  've  lost  all  my  money,  my  dear. 

LuciENNE.     Lost  all  your  money ! 

Therese.  Yes.  The  lawyer  who  had  my  securities 
has  gone  off  with  them. 

LuciENNE.     When? 

Therese.  I  heard  about  it  the  day  before  yesterday. 
Godpapa  and  godmamma  were  so  awfully  good  they 
never  said  anything  to  me  about  it,  though  they  're  losing 
a  lot  of  money  too.  They  thought  I  had  n't  heard,  and 
I  expect  they  wanted  me  to  have  this  last  evening's 
fun.  I  said  nothing,  and  so  nobody  knows  anything  ex- 
cept you,  now,  and  probably  Rene. 

LuciENNE.     What  will  you  do? 

Therese.  What  can  I  do?  It's  impossible  for  him 
to  marry  me  without  a  penny.  Of  course  I  shall  re- 
lease him  from  his  promise. 

LuciENNE.     You  think  he  '11  give  you  up? 

Therese.  His  people  will  make  him.  If  they  cut 
oflf  his  allowance,  he  '11  be  at  their  mercy.  He  earns 
about  twenty  dollars  a  month  in  that  lawyer's  office.  So, 
you  see  — 

LuciENNE.  Oh  !  poor  Therese !  And  you  could  play 
Barberine  with  a  secret  like  that ! 

Therese  [sadly]  I  've  had  a  real  bad  time  since  I 
heard.     It 's  awful  at  night ! 

LuciENNE.     My  dearest !     And  j^ou  love  him  so  ! 

Therese  [much  moved]  Yes  —  oh  !  don't  make  me 
cry. 

LuciENNE.     It  might  do  you  good ! 

Therese.     You  know  - —  [She  breaks  down  a  little] 

LuciENNE  [tenderly]  Yes  —  I  know  that  you're 
good  and  brave. 

Therese.     I  shall  have  to  be. 

LuciENNE.     Then  you'll  break  off  the  engagement? 

Therese.     Yes.     I  shall  never  see  him  again. 


24  Woman  on  Her  Own  Act  I 

LuciENNE,     Never  see  him  again! 

Therese.  I  shall  write  to  him.  If  I  saw  him  I 
should  probably  break  down.  If  I  write  I  shall  be 
more  likely  to  be  able  to  make  him  feel  that  we  must 
resign  ourselves  to  the  inevitable. 

LuciENNE.     He  '11  be  horribly  unhappy. 

Therese.  So  shall  I.  [Low  and  urgently'}  Oh,  if 
he  only  understood  me !  If  he  was  able  to  believe  that 
I  can  earn  my  own  living  and  that  he  could  earn  his. 
If  he  would  dare  to  do  without  his  people's  consent! 

LuciENNE.     Persuade  him  to  ! 

Therese.  It 's  quite  impossible.  His  people  are 
rich.  Only  just  think  what  they 'd  suspect  me  of.  No; 
I  shall  tell  him  all  the  things  his  father  will  tell  him. 
But  oh!  Lucienne,  if  he  had  an  answer  for  them!  If 
he  had  an  answer !  [She  cries  a  little}  But,  my  poor 
Rene,  he  won't  make  any  stand. 

Lucienne.     How  you  love  him ! 

Therese.  Oh,  yes ;  I  love  him.  He  's  rather  weak, 
but  he  's  so  loyal  and  good  and  [in  a  very  low  voice} 
loving. 

Lucienne.    Oh,  my  dear,  I  do  pity  you  so. 

Therese.  I  am  to  be  pitied,  really.  [Pulling  her- 
self together}  There 's  one  thing.  I  shall  take  ad- 
vantage of  this  business  to  separate  from  godpapa  and 
godmamma. 

Lucienne.     But  you  have  no  money  — 

Therese.  I  've  not  been  any  too  happy  here.  You 
know  they  're  —  [She  sees  Madame  Gueret  and  whispers 
to  Lucienne}  Go  now.  I  '11  tell  you  all  about  it  to- 
morrow. [Louder  and  gayly}  Well,  good-night,  my 
dear.  See  you  to-morrow  at  the  Palais  de  Glace  or  at 
the  Sorbonne !     Good-night. 

Lucienne.     Good-night,  Therese. 
She  goes  out. 

Madame  Gueret  [speaking  through  the  door}     Yes, 


Act  I  Woman  on  Her  Own  25 

she 's   here.      Come   in.      [^Gueret  and  Feliat  come  m] 
Therese,  we  have  something  to  say  to  you. 

Therese.     Yes,  godmamma, 

Madame  Gueret.  It 's  about  something  important ; 
something  very  serious.     Let  us  sit  down. 

Gueret.     You  '11  have  to  be  brave,  Therese. 

Madame  Gueret.  We  are  ruined,  and  you  are 
ruined  too. 

Therese.     Yes. 

Madame  Gueret.     Is  that  all  you  have  to  say? 

Therese.     I  knew  it  already. 

Madame  Gueret.     You  knew  it?     Who  told  you? 

Therese.  The  lawyer  told  me  himself.  I  had  a 
long  letter  from  him  yesterday.  He  begs  me  to  forgive 
him. 

Madame  Gueret.     Well,  I  declare ! 

Therese.  I  '11  show  it  to  you.  He  's  been  gambling. 
To  get  a  bigger  fortune  for  his  girls,  he  says. 

Madame  Gueret.  You  knew  it !  And  you  've  had 
the  strength,  the  —  duplicity  ? 

Therese  [smiling]  Just  as  you  had  yourself,  god- 
mamma.  And  I  'm  so  much  obliged  to  both  of  you  for 
saying  nothing  to  me,  because  I  'm  sure  you  wanted  me 
to  have  my  play  to-night  and  enjoy  myself;  and  that 
was  why  you  tried  to  keep  the  news  from  me. 

Madame  Gueret.  And  you  were  able  to  laugh  and  to 
act! 

Therese.     I  've  always  tried  to  keep  myself  in  hand. 

Madame  Gueret.  Oh,  I  know.  All  the  same  — 
And  I  was  so  careful  about  breaking  this  news  to  you, 
and  you  knew  it  all  the  time ! 

Therese.      I  'm  very  sorry.     But  you  — 

Madame  Gueret.  All  right,  all  right.  Well,  then, 
we  have  nothing  to  tell.  But  do  you  understand  that 
you  've  not  a  penny  left? 

Gueret.     You  're  to  go  on  living  with  us,  of  course. 


26  Woman  on  Her  Own  Act  I 

Madame  Gueret  [to  her  husband]  You  really  might 
have  given  her  time  to  ask  us.  [To  Therese]  We  take 
it  that  you  have  asked  us,  and  we  answer  that  we  will 
keep  you  with  us. 

Gueret.  We  are  going  to  Evreux.  My  brother-in- 
law  is  giving  me  work  in  his  factory. 

Madame  Gueret.  We  will  keep  you  with  us,  but  on 
certain  conditions. 

Therese.  Thank  you  very  much,  godmamma,  but  I 
mean  to  stay  in  Paris. 

Gueret.  You  don't  understand.  We  are  going  to 
live  at  Evreux. 

Therese.     But  /  am  going  to  live  in  Paris. 

Gueret.     Then  it  is  I  who  do  not  understand. 

Therese.     All  the  same  —      [A  silence] 

Madame  Gueret.  I  can  hardly  believe  that  you  pro- 
pose to  live  in  Paris  by  yourself. 

Therese  [simplt/]     I  do,  godmamma. 

Feliat.     Alone ! 

Gueret.     Alone !     I  repeat,  I  don't  understand. 

Feliat.  Nor  do  I.  But  no  doubt  you  have  reasons 
to  give  to  your  godfatlier  and  godmother.  [He  moves 
to  go] 

Therese.  There  's  no  secret  about  my  reasons.  All 
the  world  may  know  them.  When  I  've  explained  you  '11 
see  that  it 's  all  right. 

Madame  Gueret.  I  must  confess  to  being  extremely 
curious  to  hear  these  reasons. 

Therese.  I  do  hope  my  decision  won't  make  you 
angry  with  me. 

Madame  Gueret.  Angry !  When  have  I  ever  been 
angry  with  you  } 

Therese  [protesting]  You  've  both  been  —  you  've 
all  three  been  —  most  good  and  kind  to  me,  and  I  shall 
always  remember  it  and  be  grateful.  You  may  be  sure 
I  shan't  love  you  any  the  less  because   I   shall  live  in 


Act  I  Woman  on  Her  Own  27 

Paris  and  you  at  Evreux.  And  I  do  beg  of  you  to  feel 
the  same  to  me.  I  shall  never  forget  what  I  owe  to  you. 
Father  was  only  your  friend;  we  're  not  related  in  any 
way :  but  you  took  me  in,  and  for  four  years  you  've 
treated  me  as  if  I  was  your  daughter.  From  my  very 
heart  I  'm  grateful  to  you. 

GuERET  [affectionately]  You  don't  owe  us  much,  you 
know.  For  two  years  you  were  a  boarder  at  the  Lycee 
Maintenon,  and  we  saw  nothing  of  you  but  your  letters. 
You  've  only  actually  lived  with  us  for  two  years,  and 
you  've  been  like  sunshine  in  the  house. 

Madame  Gueret.     Yes,  indeed. 

Therese.  I  've  thought  this  carefully  over.  I  'm 
twenty-three.     I  won't  be  a  burden  to  you  any  longer. 

Gueret.  Is  that  because  you  are  too  proud  and  in- 
dependent.'' 

Therese.  If  I  thought  I  could  really  be  of  use  to 
you,  I  would  stay  with  you.  If  I  could  help  you  to 
face  your  troubles,  I  would  stay  with  you.  But  I  can't, 
and  I  mean  to  shift  for  myself. 

Madame  Gueret.  And  you  think  you  can  "shift  for 
yourself,"  as  you  call  it,  all  alone.'' 

Therese.     Yes,  godmamma. 

Madame  Gueret.  A  young  girl,  all  alone,  in  Paris  ! 
The  thing  is  inconceivable. 

Gueret.  But,  my  poor  child,  how  do  you  propose  to 
live  } 

Therese.     I  '11  work. 

Madame  Gueret.     You  don't  mean  that  seriously.'' 

Therese.     Yes,  godmamma. 

Gueret.  You  think  you  have  only  to  ask  for  work 
and  it  will  fall  from  the  skies ! 

Therese.  I  have  a  few  dollars  in  my  purse  which 
will  keep  me  until  I  have  found  sometliing. 

Feliat.  Your  purse  will  be  empty  before  you  *ve 
made  a  cent. 


28  Woman  on  Her  Own  Act  I 

Therese.     I  'm  sure  it  won't. 

GuERET.  Now,  my  dear,  you  're  tired,  and  nervous, 
and  upset.  You  can't  look  at  things  calmly.  We  can 
talk  about  this  again  to-morrow. 

Therese.  Yes,  godpapa.  But  I  shan't  have  changed 
my  mind. 

Madame  Gueret.  I  know  you  have  a  strong  will  of 
your  own. 

Feliat.  Let  us  talk  sensibly  and  reasonably.  You 
propose  to  live  all  alone  in  Paris.  Good.  Where  will 
you  live? 

Therese.  I  shall  hire  a  little  flat  —  or  a  room  some- 
where. 

Madame  Gueret.     Like  a  workgirl. 

Therese.  Like  a  workgirl.  There  's  nothing  to  be 
ashamed  of  in  that. 

Feliat.  And  you  are  going  to  earn  your  own  living. 
How? 

Therese.  I  shall  work.  There 's  nothing  to  be 
ashamed  of  in  that,  either. 

Gueret.  I  see.  But  a  properly  brought  up  young 
lady  does  n't  work  for  her  living  if  she  can  possibly 
avoid  it. 

Madame  Gueret.  And  above  all,  a  properly  brought 
up  young  lady  does  n't  live  all  alone. 

Therese.     All  the  same  — 

Madame  Gueret.  You  are  perfectly  free.  There  's 
no  doubt  about  that.  We  have  no  power  to  prevent 
you  from  doing  exactly  as  you  choose. 

Gueret.     But  your  father  left  you  in  my  care. 

Therese.  Please,  godmamma,  don't  be  hard  upon  me. 
I  feel  you  think  I  'm  ungrateful,  though  you  don't  say 
so.  I  know  that  often  and  often  I  shall  long  for  your 
kindness  and  for  the  home  where  you  've  given  me  a 
place.  I  've  shocked  you.  Do  please  forgive  me.  I  'm 
made  like  that,  and  made  differently  from  you.     I  don't 


Act  I  Woman  on  Her  Own  29 

say  you're  not  right;  I  only  say  I'm  different.  Cer- 
tain ideas  have  come  to  me  from  being  educated  at  the 
Lycee  and  from  all  these  books  I  've  read.  I  think  I  'm 
able  to  earn  my  own  living,  and  so  I  look  upon  it  as  my 
bounden  duty  not  to  trespass  upon  your  charity.  It 's  a 
question  of  personal  dignity.  Don't  you  think  that  I  'm 
right,  godfather?  [With  a  change  of  tone]  Besides, 
if  I  did  go  to  Evreux  with  you,  what  should  I  do  there? 

GuERET.     It 's  pretty  easy  to  guess. 

Madame  Gueret.     Yes,  indeed. 

GuERET.     You  would  live  with  us. 

Madame  Gueret  [not  very  kindly]  You  would  have 
a  home. 

Therese.  Yes,  yes,  I  know  all  that ;  and  it  would  be 
a  great  happiness.     But  what  should  I  do? 

Gueret.  You  would  do  what  all  well  brought  up 
young  girls  in  your  position  do. 

Therese.     You  mean  I  should  do  nothing. 

Gueret.     Nothing !     No,  not  nothing. 

Therese.  Pay  visits,  practise  a  bit;  some  crochet 
and  a  little  photography  ?     That 's  to  say,  nothing. 

Gueret.     You  were  brought  up  to  that. 

Therese.  I  should  never  have  dared  to  put  it  into 
words.     But  afterwards  ? 

Gueret.     Afterwards  ? 

Therese.     How  long  would  that  last? 

Gueret.     Until  you  marry. 

Therese.     I  shall  never  marry. 

Gueret.     Why  not? 

Therese  [very  gently]  Oh,  godfather,  you  know 
why  not.  I  have  no  money.  [A  silence]  So  I  'm  go- 
ing to  try  and  get  work. 

Feliat.  Work !  Now,  Therese,  you  know  what 
women  are  like  who  try  to  earn  their  own  living.  You 
think  you  can  support  yourself.     How? 


30  Woman  on  Her  Own  Act  I 

Therese.  Perhaps  I  'm  mistaken,  but  I  think  I  can 
support  myself  by  my  pen. 

Feliat.     Be  a  bluestocking? 

Therese.     Yes. 

Madame  Gueret.  That  means  a  Bohemian  life,  with 
everything  upside  down,  and  a  cigarette  always  be- 
tween your  lips. 

Therese  [laughingl  Neither  Bohemia,  nor  the  up- 
side down,  nor  the  cigarette  are  indispensable,  god- 
mother. Your  information  is  neither  firsthand  .nor 
up-to-date. 

Feliat.     In  a  month's  time  you  '11  want  to  give  it  up. 

Therese.  Under  those  circumstances  there 's  no 
harm  in  letting  me  make  the  experiment. 

Gueret.  Now,  my  dear  child,  don't  you  know  that 
even  with  your  cleverness  you  may  have  to  wait  years 
before  you  make  a  penny.  I  've  been  an  editor.  I 
know  what  I  'm  talking  about. 

Madame  Gueret.  She  's  made  up  her  mind,  there  's 
no  use  saying  any  more. 

Feliat.  But  /  want  to  talk  to  her  now.  Will  you 
be  so  good  as  to  listen  to  me.  Mademoiselle  Therese? 
[To  Madame  Gueret]  I  wonder  if  I  might  be  allowed 
to  have  a  few  minutes  with  her  alone. 

Madame  Gueret.     Most  willingly. 

Gueret  [to  his  wife]     Come,  Marguerite. 

Madame  Gueret.  It 's  no  use  making  up  your  mind 
to  the  worst  in  these  days ;  life  always  keeps  a  surprise 
for  you.     Let 's  go.     [She  goes  out  with  her  husband] 

Feliat.  My  child,  I  have  undertaken  to  say  some- 
thing to  you  that  I  fear  will  hurt  you,  and  it 's  very  diffi- 
cult. You  know  that  I  'm  only  Rene's  uncle  by  marriage. 
So  it 's  not  on  my  own  account  that  I  speak.  I  speak  for 
his  parents. 

Therese.     Don't  say  another  word,  Monsieur  Feliat. 


Act  I  Woman  on  Her  Own  31 

I  perfectly  understand.      I  'm  going  to  release  him  from 
his  engagement.      I  shall  write  to  him  this  very  night. 

Feliat.  My  sister-in-law  and  her  husband  are  most 
unhappy  about  all  this. 

Therese.      I  'm  grateful  to  you  all. 

Feliat.  Their  affection  for  you  is  not  in  any  way 
diminished. 

Therese.     I  know. 

Feliat.     And  — 

Therese  [imploringly]  Please,  please.  Monsieur 
Feliat,  don't  say  any  more;  what 's  the  good  of  it? 

Feliat.  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear.  I  am  a  little 
upset.     I  was  expecting  —  er,  er  — 

Therese.     Expecting  what? 

Feliat.  I  expected  some  resistance  on  your  part, 
perhaps  indignation.  It  must  be  very  hard  for  you; 
you  were  very  fond  of  Rene. 

Therese.  What's  the  good  of  talking  about  that? 
Of  course  he  can't  marry  me  now  that  I  've  not  got  a 
penny. 

Feliat.  You  know  —  as  a  matter  of  fact  —  1  — 
my  old-fashioned  ideas  —  well,  you  go  on  surprising  me. 
But  this  time  my  surprise  is  accompanied  by  —  shall  I 
say  respect  ?  —  and  by  sympathy.  I  expected  tears, 
which  would  have  been  very  natural,  because  I  know 
that  your  affection  for  Rene  was  very  great. 

Therese.      I  can  keep  my  tears  to  myself. 

Feliat.    Yes  —    Oh,  I  —  at  least  — 

Therese.  Let 's  consider  it  settled.  Please  don't 
talk  to  me  about  it  any  more. 

Feliat.  Very  well.  Now  will  you  allow  me  to  say 
one  word  to  you  about  37our  future? 

Therese.     I  shan't  change  my  mind. 

Feliat.  Perhaps  not;  all  the  same  I  want  to  advise 
you  like  —  well,  like  an  old  uncle.  For  several  years 
you  have  been  spending  your  holidays  with  me  at  La 


32  Woman  on  Her  Own  Act  I 

Tremblaye.  And  I  have  a  real  affection  lor  you.  So 
you  '11  listen  to  me  ? 

Therese.     With  all  my  heart. 

Feliat.  You  're  making  a  mistake.  Your  ideas  do 
you  credit^  but  believe  me,  you  're  laying  up  trouble  for 
yourself  in  the  future.  [She  makes  a  movement  to 
interrupt  him]  Wait.  I  don't  want  to  argue.  I  want 
you  to  listen  to  me,  and  I  want  to  persuade  you  to  fol- 
low my  advice.  Come  to  Evreux  and  you  may  be  per- 
fectly certain  that  you  won't  be  left  an  old  maid  all  your 
life.  Even  without  money  you  '11  find  a  husband  there. 
You  're  too  pretty,  too  charming,  too  well  educated  not 
to  turn  the  head  of  some  worthy  gentleman.  You  made 
a  sensation  at  the  reception  at  the  Prefecture.  If  you 
don't  know  that  already,  I  tell  you  so. 

Therese.     I  'm  extremely  flattered. 

Feliat.  Do  you  know  that  if  —  well,  if  you  decide  to 
marry  —  I  might  — 

Therese.     But  I  've  not  decided  to  marry. 

Feliat.  All  right,  all  right,  I  am  speaking  about 
later  on.  Well,  you  've  seen  Monsieur  Baudoin  and 
Monsieur  Gambard  — 

Therese.     I  have  n't  the  slightest  intention  of  — 

Feliat  [interrupting]  There  's  no  question  of  any- 
thing immediate.  But  for  a  person  as  wise  and  sensible 
as  you  are,  the  position  of  both  the  one  and  the  other 
deserves  — 

Therese.     I  know  them  both. 

Feliat.     Yes;  but  — 

Therese.  Now  look  here.  If  I  had  two  hundred 
thousand  francs,  would  you  suggest  that  I  should  marry 
either  of  them.-* 

Feliat.     Certainly  not. 

Therese.     There,  you  see. 

Feliat.  But  you  've  not  got  two  hundred  thousand 
francs. 


Act  I  Woman  on  Her  Own  33 

Therese  [without  showing  any  anger  or  annoy- 
ance]  The  last  thing  I  want  is  to  be  exacting.  But 
really,  Monsieur  Feliat,  think  for  a  minute.  If  I  were 
to  marry  a  man  I  could  not  possibly  love,  I  should 
marry  him  for  his  money.  [Looking  straight  at  him] 
And  in  that  case  the  only  difference  between  me  and  the 
women  I  am  not  supposed  to  know  anything  about 
would  be  that  a  little  ceremony  had  been  performed 
over  me  and  not  over  them.  Don't  you  agree  with 
me.'' 

Feliat.  But,  my  dear,  you  say  such  extraordinary 
things. 

Therese.  Well,  do  you  consider  that  less  dishonor- 
ing than  working.''  Honestly  now,  do  you.''  I  think 
that  the  best  thing  about  women  earning  their  living  is 
that  it  '11  save  them  from  being  put  into  exactly  that 
position. 

Feliat.  The  right  thing  for  woman  is  marriage. 
That 's  her  proper  position. 

Therese.  It 's  sometimes  an  unhappy  one.  [A 
maid  comes  in  bringing  a  card  to  Therese,  who  says] 
Ask  the  lady  kindly  to  wait  a  moment. 

Maid.     Yes,  Mademoiselle.     [The  maid  goes  out] 

Feliat.  Well,  I  'm  off.  I  shall  go  and  see  Rene. 
Then  you  '11  write  to  him  ? 

Therese.     This  Very  evening. 

Feliat.  He  '11  want  to  see  you.  My  child,  will  you 
have  the  courage  to  resist  him? 

Therese.     You  need  n't  trouble  about  that. 

Feliat.  If  he  was  mad  enough  to  want  to  do  with- 
out his  parents'  consent,  they  wish  me  to  tell  you  that 
they  would  never  speak  to  him  again. 

Therese.     I  see. 

Feliat.  That  he  would  be  a  stranger  to  them.  You 
understand  all  that  that  means.'' 

Therese   [discouraged]      Yes,  yes ;  oh  yes. 


34!  Woman  on  Her  Own  Act  I 

Feliat.  If  you  are  not  strong  enough  to  stand  out 
against  his  entreaties,  you  will  be  his  ruin. 

Therese.     I  quite  understand. 

Feliat.     People  would  think  very  badly  of  you. 

Therese.  Please  don't  say  any  more,  I  quite 
understand. 

Feliat.     Then  I  may  trust  you  ? 

Therese.     You  may  trust  me. 

Feliat  [fatherly  and  approving^  Thank  you. 
[He  holds  out  his  hand]  Therese,  you  're  —  well  — 
you  're  splendid.  I  like  courage.  I  wish  you  success 
with  all  my  heart.  I  really  wish  you  success.  But  if, 
in  the  future,  you  should  want  a  friend  —  the  very 
strongest  may  find  themselves  in  that  position  —  let  me 
be  that  friend. 

Therese  [taking  the  hand  which  Feliat  holds  out  to 
her]  I  'm  grateful,  very  grateful.  Monsieur.  Thank 
you.  But  I  hope  I  shall  be  able  to  earn  my  own  living. 
That  is  all  I  want. 

Feliat.  I  wish  you  every  success.  Good-bye, 
Mademoiselle. 

Therese.  Good-bye,  Monsieur.  [He  goes  out. 
She  crosses  to  another  door  and  brings  in  Madame 
Nerisse]  How  good  of  you  to  come,  dear  Madame. 
Too  bad  you  should  have  the  trouble. 

Madame  Nerisse.  Nonsense,  my  dear.  I  wanted  to 
come.  I  'm  so  anxious  to  show  you  these  two  photo- 
graphs and  consult  you  about  which  we  're  to  publish. 
I  expected  to  find  you  very  tired. 

Therese.  I  am  not  the  least  tired,  and  I  'm  de- 
lighted to  see  you. 

Madame  Nerisse  [showing  Therese  the  photographs] 
This  is  more  brilliant,  that 's  more  dreamy.  I  like  this 
one.     What  do  you  think.'' 

Therese.     I  like  this  one  too. 

Madame    Nerisse.      Then   that 's    settled.      [Putting 


Act  I  Woman  on  Her  Own  35 

down  the  photographs^  What  a  success  you  had  this 
evening. 

Therese.  Yes;  people  are  very  kind.  \^Seriously'\ 
I  'm  so  glad  you  've  come  just  now,  dear  Madame,  so 
that  we  can  have  a  few  minutes'  quiet  talk.  I  have 
something  most  important  to  say  to  you. 

Madame  Nerisse.     Anything  I  can  do  for  you? 

Therese.  Well,  I  '11  explain.  And  please  do  talk  to 
me  quite  openly  and  frankly. 

Madame  Nerisse.     I  will  indeed. 

Therese.  You  told  me  that  my  article  was  very 
much  liked.  I  can  quite  believe  that  you  may  have 
exaggerated  a  little  out  of  kindness  to  me.  I  want  to 
know  really  whether  you  think  I  write  well. 

Madame  Nerisse.  Dear  Therese,  ask  Madame 
Gueret  to  tell  you  what  I  said  to  her  just  now  about 
that  very  thing. 

Therese.  Then  you  think  my  collaboration  might  be 
really  useful  to  Feminine  Art? 

Madame  Nerisse.  There  's  nothing  more  useful  to 
a  paper  like  ours  than  the  collaboration  of  girls  in 
society. 

Therese.  Would  you  like  me  to  send  you  some  more 
stories  like  the  first? 

Madame  Nerisse.     As  many  as  you  can. 

Therese.  And  —  [<SAe  hesitates  a  moment^  and 
would  you  pay  me  the  same  price  for  them  as  for  the  one 
you  've  just  published? 

Madame  Nerisse.  Yes,  exactly  the  same;  and  I 
shall  be  very  glad  to  get  them.  I  like  your  work;  you 
have  an  exceptionally  light  touch;  people  won't  get 
tired  of  reading  your  stuff. 

Therese.  Oh,  I  hope  that 's  true !  I  'm  going  to  tell 
you  some  bad  news.  For  family  reasons  my  godfather 
and  godmother  are  going  to  leave  Paris.  I  shall  stay 
here  by  myself,  and  I  shall  have  to  live  by  my  pen. 


36  Woman  on  Her  Own  Act  I 

Madame  Nerisse.    What  an  idea ! 

Therese.     It 's  not  an  idea,  it 's  a  necessity. 

Madame  Nerisse.  What  do  you  mean.''  A  ne- 
cessity? Monsieur  Gueret  — .  But  I  mustn't  be  in- 
quisitive. 

Therese.  You  're  not  inquisitive,  and  I  '11  tell  you 
all  about  it  very  soon ;  we  have  n't  got  time  now.  Can 
you  promise  to  take  a  weekly  article  from  me? 

Madame  Nerisse  [wif/i  less  confidence]      Certainly. 

Therese  [joyfully}  You  can!  Oh,  thank  you, 
thank  you !  I  can't  tell  you  how  you  've  relieved  my 
mind. 

Madame  Nerisse.  My  dear  child.  I  am  glad 
you  've  spoken  to  me  plainly.  I  will  do  everything  I 
possibly  can.  I  'm  extremely  fond  of  you.  I  don't 
think  the  Directors  will  object, 

Therese.  Why  should  they  have  anything  to  do  with 
it? 

Madame  Nerisse  [doubtfully]  Perhaps  not,  but  — 
the  Directors  like  to  give  each  number  a  character  of 
its  own.     It 's   a  thing  they  're  very   particular  about. 

Therese.  I  could  write  about  very  different  sub- 
jects. 

Madame  Nerisse.  I  know  you  could,  but  it  would 
be  always  the  same  signature. 

Therese.  Well,  every  now  and  then  I  might  sign  a 
fancy  name. 

Madame  Nerisse.  That  would  be  quite  easy,  and 
I  don't  think  the  Directors  would  mind.  They  might 
say  it  was  a  fresh  name  to  make  itself  known  and  liked. 

Therese.     We  '11  try  and  manage  it. 

Madame  Nerisse.  We  shall  have  to  fight  against 
some  jealousy.  The  Directors  have  protegees.  The 
wife  of  one  of  them  has  been  waiting  to  get  an  innings 
for  more  than  two  months.  There  are  so  many  girls 
and  women  who  write  nowadays. 


Act  I  Woman  on  Her  Own  37 

Therese.  Yes;  but  generally  speaking  their  work 
is  not  worth  much,  I  think. 

Madame  Nerisse.  Oh,  I  don't  know  that.  There 
are  a  great  many  who  have  real  talent.  People  don't 
realize  what  a  lot  of  girls  there  are  who  have  talent. 
But,  still,  if  I  'm  not  able  to  take  an  article  every  week, 
you  may  rely  upon  me  to  take  one  as  often  as  I  possibly 
can.  Oh,  I  shall  make  myself  some  enemies  for  your 
sake. 

Therese  [in  consternation]  Enemies?  How  do 
you  mean  enemies  ? 

Madame  Nerisse.  My  dear,  it  alters  everything  if 
you  become  a  professional.  Let  me  see  if  I  can  ex- 
plain. We  have  our  regular  contributors.  The  editor 
makes  them  understand  that  they  must  expect  to  run  the 
gantlet  of  the  occasional  competition  of  society  women; 
because,  if  these  women  are  allowed  to  write,  it  inter- 
ests them  and  their  families  in  the  paper,  and  it 's  an  ex- 
cellent advertisement  for  us.  That  '11  explain  to  you, 
by  the  way,  why  we  sometimes  publish  articles  not  quite 
up  to  our  standard.  But  if  it 's  a  matter  of  regular, 
professional  work,  we  have  to  be  more  careful.  We  have 
to  respect  established  rights  and  consider  people  who  've 
been  with  us  a  long  time.  .  There  is  only  a  limited  space 
in  each  number,  and  a  lot  of  people  have  to  live  out  of 
that. 

Therese   [xolio  has  gone  quite  white]      Yes,  I  see. 

Madame  Nerisse  [who  sees  Therese's  emotion]  How 
sorry  I  am  for  you !  If  you  only  knew  how  I  feel  for 
you!  Don't  look  so  unhappy.  [Therese  makes  a  ges- 
ture of  despair]  You  're  not  an  ordinary  girl,  Therese, 
and  it  shall  never  be  said  that  I  did  n't  do  all  I  could 
for  you.  Listen.  I  told  you  just  now  that  I  had  some 
big  projects  in  my  mind.  You  shall  know  what  they 
are.  My  husband  and  I  are  going  to  start  an  im- 
portant weekly  feminist  paper  on  absolutely  new  lines. 


38  Woman  on  Her  Own  Act  I 

It 's  going  to  leave  everything  that 's  been  done  up  to 
now  miles  behind.  My  husband  shall  explain  his  ideas 
to  you  himself.  It  '11  be  advanced  and  superior  and  all 
that,  and  at  the  same  time  most  practical.  Even  to 
think  of  it  has  been  a  touch  of  genius.  When  you  meet 
my  husband  you  '11  find  that  he  's  altogether  out  of  the 
common.  He  's  so  clever,  and  he  'd  be  in  the  very  first 
rank  in  journalism  if  it  was  n't  for  the  envy  and  jealousy 
of  other  men  who  've  intrigued  against  him  and  kept 
him  down.  I  don't  believe  he  has  his  equal  in  Paris  as 
a  journalist.  I  '11  read  you  some  of  his  verses,  and 
you  '11  see  that  he  's  a  great  poet  too.  But  I  shall  run 
on  forever.  Only  yesterday  he  got  the  last  of  the 
capital  that 's  needed  for  founding  the  paper ;  it 's 
been  definitely  promised.  We  're  ready  to  set  about 
collecting  our  staff.  We  shall  have  leading  articles,  of 
course,  and  literary  articles.  Do  you  want  me  to  talk 
to  him  about  you.'' 

Tkerese.     Of  course  I  do.     But  — 

Madame  Nerisse.  We  want  to  start  a  really  smart, 
respectable  woman's  paper ;  of  course  without  sacrificing 
our  principles.  Our  title  by  itself  proves  that.  It 's  to 
be  called  Woman  Free. 

Therese.  I  '11  give  you  my  answer  to-morrow  —  or 
this  evening,  if  you  like. 

Madame  Nerisse  [hesitatingly]  Before  I  go  —  as 
we  're  to  be  thrown  a  good  deal  together  —  I  must  tell 
you  something  about  myself  —  a  secret.  I  hope  you 
won't  care  for  me  less  when  you  know  it.  I  call  myself 
Madame  Nerisse.  But  I  have  no  legal  right  to  the 
name.  That  's  why  I  Ve  always  found  some  reason  for 
not  introducing  Monsieur  Nerisse  to  you  and  your 
people.  He  's  married  —  married  to  a  woman  who  's 
not  worthy  of  him.  She  lives  in  an  out-of-the-way 
place  in  the  country  and  will  not  consent  to  a  divorce. 
My  dear  Therese,  it  makes  me  very  unhappy.      I  live 


Act  I  Woman  on  Her  Own  39 

only  for  him.  I  don't  think  a  woman  can  be  fonder  of 
a  man  than  I  am  of  him.  He  's  so  superior  to  other 
men.  But  unfortunately  I  met  him  too  late.  I  felt  I 
ought  to  tell  you  this. 

Therese.  Your  telling  me  has  added  to  my  friend- 
ship for  you.  I  can  guess  how  unhappy  you  are. 
Probably  I'll  go  this  very  evening  to  your  house  and  see 
your  husband  and  hear  from  him  if  he  thinks  I  can  be 
of  use.     Anyway,  thank  you  very  much. 

Madame  Nerisse.  And  thank  you  for  the  way  you 
take  this.     Good-bye   for  the  present. 

She  goes  out.  Therese  stands  thinking  for  a  moment, 
then  Rene  comes  in.     He  is  very  much  upset. 

Therese.     Rene! 

Rene.  Therese,  it  can't  be  true  !  It 's  not  possible ! 
It 's  not  all  over  —  our  love  ? 

Therese.     We  must  be  brave. 

Rene.     But  I  can't  give  you  up. 

Therese.     I  've  lost  every  penny,  Rene  dear. 

Rene.  But  I  don't  love  you  any  the  less  for  that. 
I  can't  give  you  up,  Therese.  I  can't  give  you  up.  I 
love  you,  I  love  you. 

Therese.  Oh,  Rene,  don't!  I  need  all  my  courage 
to  face  this.  Help  me.  Don't  you  see,  your  people 
will  never  consent  now. 

Rene.  My  uncle  told  me  so.  But  I  '11  see  them. 
I  '11  persuade  them.      I  '11  explain  to  them. 

Therese.  You  know  very  well  they  never  really 
liked  me,  and  that  they  '11  be  glad  of  this  opportunity 
of  breaking  it  off. 

Rene.  I  don't  know  what  to  do.  But  I  cannot  give 
you  up.  What  would  become  of  me  without  you? 
You  're  everything  to  me,  everything.  And  suddenly 
—  because  of  this  dreadful  thing  —  I  must  give  up  my 
whole  life's  happiness. 

Therese.    Your  people  are  quite  right,  Rene. 


40  Woman  on  Her  Own  Act  I 

Rene.     And  you,  you  say  that ! 

He   hides   his  face   in   his   hands.     A    silence. 

Therese  [^gently  removing  his  hands]  Look  at  me, 
Rene.     You  're  crying.     Oh,  my  dear  love ! 

Rene  [taking  her  in  his  arms]  I  love  you,  I  love 
you! 

Therese.  And  I  love  you.  Oh,  please  don't  cry  any 
more !  [She  kisses  him]  Rene,  dear,  don't  cry  any 
more !  You  break  my  heart.  I  can't  bear  it.  I  'm  for- 
getting all  I  ought  to  say  to  you.  [Breaking  down] 
Oh,  how  dreadful  this  is!  [They  cry  together.  Then 
she  draws  herself  away  from  him,  saying]  This  is 
madness. 

Rene.     Ah,  stay,  Therese. 

Therese.  No.  We  must  n't  do  this ;  we  must  be  brave. 
Oh,  why  did  you  come  here.''  I  was  going  to  write  to 
you.  We  're  quite  helpless  against  this  dreadful  mis- 
fortune. 

Rene.  I  don't  know  what  to  do !  But  I  can't  give 
you  up. 

Therese  [to  herself]  I  must  do  the  right  thing. 
[To  him]     Rene,  stop  crying.     Listen  to  me. 

Rene.     I  love  you. 

Therese.  Yes ;  there  's  our  love.  But  besides  that 
there  's  life,  and  life  is  cruel  and  too  strong  for  our 
love.     There  is  your  future,  my  dearest. 

Rene.  My  future  is  to  love  you.  My  future  is 
nothing  if  I  lose  you.      [He  buries  his  face  in  his  hands] 

Therese.  You  can't  marry  a  girl  without  any 
money.  That 's  a  dreadful  fact,  like  a  stone  wall.  We 
shall  only  break  ourselves  to  pieces  if  we  dash  ourselves 
against  it.  Listen,  oh,  please  listen  to  me.  Don't  you 
hear  what  I  'm  saying?     Rene  —  dear. 

Rene.     I  'm  listening. 

Therese.  I  give  you  your  freedom  without  any  bit- 
terness or  hardness. 


Act  I  Woman  on  Her  Own  41 

Rene.     I  don't  want  it! 

Therese.  Now  listen.  You  must  n't  sacrifice  your 
whole  life  for  a  love  affair^  no  matter  how  great  the  love 
is. 

Rene.    It 's  by  losing  you  I  shall  sacrifice  my  life. 

Therese.  Try  and  be  brave;  control  yourself.  Let 
us  face  this  quietly.  Suppose  we  do  without  your 
people's  consent.  What  will  become  of  us?  Try  to 
look  the  thing  in  the  face.  How  should  we  live  ?  Rene, 
it 's  horrible  to  bring  our  love  down  to  the  level  of  these 
miserable  realities,  but  facts  are  facts.  You  know  very 
well  that  if  you  marry  me  without  your  father  and 
mother's  consent,  they  won't  give  you  any  money.  Is  n't 
that  so? 

Rene.     Oh  !  father  is  hard. 

Therese.  He  's  quite  right,  my  dear,  quite  right.  If 
I  was  your  sister,  I  should  advise  you  not  to  give  up  the 
position  you  have  been  brought  up  in  and  the  profession 
you  've  been  educated  for. 

Rene.     But  I  love  you. 

Therese  [moved]  And  I  love  you.  Well,  we  've  got 
to  forget  one  another. 

Rene.     That 's  impossible. 

Therese.  We  must  be  wise  enough  to  —  [She 
stops,  her  voice  breaks] 

Rene.     Oh !  how  unhappy  I  am. 

Therese  [controlling  herself]  Don't  let  yourself  go. 
We're  not  in  dreamland.  If  you  keep  on  saying  "I 
am  unhappy,"  you  '11  be  unhappy. 

Rene.     I  love  you  so.     Oh,  Therese,  how  I  love  you! 

Therese  [softly]     You  '11  forget  me. 

Rene.     Never. 

Therese.  Yes.  You  '11  remember  me  in  a  way,  of 
course.  But  you  're  young.  Very  soon  you  '11  be  able 
to  live,  to  laugh,  to  love,  to  work. 

Rene.     My  dearest!     I  don't  know  what  to  say.     I 


42  Woman  on  Her  Own  Act  I 

can't  talk  of  it.  I  only  know  one  thing  —  I  can't  let 
you  go. 

Therese.     But  we  should  be  miserable,  Rene. 

Rene.     Miserable  together! 

Therese.  Think,  dear,  think.  It  will  be  years  be- 
fore you  can  earn  your  own  living,  won't  it? 

Rene.     But  I  — 

Therese.  Now  you  know  you  've  tried  already. 
Only  last  year  you  wanted  to  leave  home  and  be  inde- 
pendent, and  you  had  to  go  back  because  you  were  starv- 
ing.    Is  n't  that  true  .'* 

Rene.  It 's  dreadful,  dreadful !  [He  is  overcome, 
terrified] 

Therese.  So  we  must  look  at  life  as  it  is,  practi- 
cally, must  n't  we .''  We  have  to  have  lodging  and  furni- 
ture and  clothes.      How  are  we  to  manage? 

Rene.     It 's  dreadful ! 

Therese.  How  would  you  bear  to  see  me  going  about 
in  rags  ?  [He  is  silent.  She  waits,  looking  at  him, 
hoping  for  a  word  of  strength  or  courage.  It  does  not 
come.  She  draws  herself  up  slowly,  her  face  harden- 
ing] You  can't  face  that,  can  you?  Tell  me.  Can 
you  face  that? 

Rene.     No. 

Therese  [humiliated  by  his  want  of  courage  and  in- 
fected by  his  weakness]      So  you  see,  I  'm  right. 

Rene  [sobbing]      Oh !     Oh  ! 

Therese.  [setting  her  teeth]  Oh,  can  you  do  nothing 
but  cry? 

Rene.     What  a  useless  creature  I  am. 

Therese.     There,  now,  you  see  you  're  better ! 

Rene.     I  'm  ashamed  of  being  so  good-for-nothing. 

Therese  [hopeless]  You  're  just  like  all  the  others. 
Now,  don't  be  miserable.  I  'm  not  angry  with  you;  you 
are  doing  what  I  told  you  we  must  do,  and  you  agree. 
Go,  Rene.     Say  good-bye.     Good-bye,  Rene. 


Act  I  Woman  on  Her  Own  43 

Rene.     Therese ! 

Therese  [her  nerves  on  edge]  Everything  we  can 
say  is  useless,  and  it  '11  only  torture  and  humiliate  us. 
We  must  end  this  —  now  —  at  once. 

Rene.     I  shall  always  love  you,  Therese. 

Therese.     Yes  —  exactly  —  now  go. 

Rene.     Oh,  my  God! 

Therese.     Go. 

Rene.  I  '11  go  and  see  my  people.  They  '11  never 
be  so  cruel  — 

Therese.     Yes,  yes,  all  right. 

Rene.     I  '11  write  you. 

Therese.     Yes  —  that 's  it  —  you  '11  write. 

Rene.  I  shall  see  you  again,  Therese?  [He  goes 
slowly  to  the  door] 

Therese  [ashamed  for  him,  covers  her  face  with  her 
hands.  Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  she  bursts  out  into  pas- 
sionate sobs,  having  lost  all  control  of  herself,  and  cries 
wildly]      Rene! 

Rene  [returning,  shocked]  Therese !  Oh,  what  is 
it? 

Therese  [completely  at  the  mercy  of  her  feelings] 
Suppose  —  suppose  after  all,  we  did  it?  Listen.  I 
love  you  far  more  than  you  know,  more  than  I  have  ever 
let  you  know.  A  foolish  feeling  of  self-respect  made  me 
hide  a  lot  from  you.  Trust  me.  Trust  your  future  to 
me.  Marry  me  all  the  same.  Believe  in  me.  Marry 
me.  You  don't  know  how  strong  I  am  and  all  the  things 
I  can  do.  I  will  work,  and  you  will  work.  You  did  n't 
get  on  when  you  were  alone,  but  you  will  when  you  have 
me  with  you.  I  '11  keep  you  brave  when  things  go  badly, 
and  I  '11  be  happy  with  you  when  they  go  right.  Rene, 
I  '11  be  content  with  so  little !  The  simplest,  humblest, 
hardest  life,  until  we  've  made  our  way  together  —  to- 
gether, Rene,  and  conquered  a  place  in  the  world  for  our- 
selves, that  we  '11  owe  to  no  one  but  ourselves.     Let  us 


44  Woman  on  Her  Own  Act  I 

have  courage —  [At  this  point  she  looks  at  him,  and 
having  looked  she  ceases  to  speak^ 

Rene.     Therese,  I  'm  sure  my  people  will  give  in. 

Therese  [after  a  very  long  silence,  inarticulately] 
Go,  go;  poor  Rene.     Forget  vrhat  I  said.     Good-bye, 

Rene.  Oh^  no!  not  good-bye.  I  '11  make  my  father 
help  us. 

Therese  [sharply]  Too  late,  my  friend.  I  don't 
want  you  now. 

She  leaves  the  room.  Rene  sinks  into  a  chair  and 
covers  his  face  with  his  hands. 


ACT    II 

Scene:  —  A  sitting-room  at  the  offices  of  "Woman 
Free."  The  door  at  the  hack  opens  into  an  entrance 
hall.  The  general  editorial  office  is  to  the  right.  Mon- 
sieur Nerisse's  room  to  the  left.  At  the  hack,  also  to 
the  left,  is  another  door  opening  into  a  smaller  sitting- 
room.  There  are  papers  and  periodicals  upon  the 
tables. 

The  curtain  rises  upon  Monsieur  Mafflu.  He  is  a 
man  of  ahout  fifty,  dressed  for  ease  rather  than  elegance, 
and  a  little  vulgar.  He  turns  over  the  papers  on  the 
tahles,  studies  himself  in  the  mirror,  and  readjusts  his 
tie.  Madame  Nerisse  then  comes  in.  She  has  Mon- 
sieur Mafflu's  visiting  card  in  her  hand.  They  how  to 
each  other. 

Monsieur  Mafflu.  My  card  will  have  informed  you 
that  I  am  Monsieur  Mafflu. 

Madame  Nerisse.     Yes.    Won't  you  sit  down? 

Monsieur  Mafflu.  I  am  your  new  landlord, 
Madame.  I  have  just  bought  this  house.  I  've  re- 
tired from  business.  I  was  afraid  I  should  n't  have 
enough  to  do,  so  I  've  bought  some  houses.  I  am  my 
own  agent.  It  gives  me  something  to  do.  If  a  tenant 
wants  repairs  done,  I  go  and  see  him.  I  love  a  bit  of  a 
gossip;  it  passes  away  an  hour  or  so.  In  that  way  I 
make  people's  acquaintance  —  nice  people.  I  did  n't 
buy  any  of  the  houses  where  poor  people  live,  though 
they  're  better  business.  I  should  never  have  had  the 
heart  to  turn  out  the  ones  that  did  n't  pay,  and  I  should 

45 


46  Woman  on  Her  Own        Act  II 

have  been  obliged  to  start  an  agent,  and  all  my  plan 
would  have  been  upset.  [A  pause]  Now,  Madame, 
for  what  brought  me  here.  I  hope  you  '11  forgive  me 
for  the  trouble  I  'm  giving  you  —  and  I  'm  sorry  —  but 
I  've  come  to  give  you  notice. 

Madame  Nerisse.  Indeed!  May  I  ask  what  your 
reason  is.'' 

Monsieur  Mafflu.  I  am  just  on  the  point  of  letting 
the  second  floor.    My  future  tenant  has  young  daughters. 

Madame  Nerisse.  I  'm  afraid  I  don't  see  what  that 
has  got  to  do  with  it. 

Monsieur  Mafflu.  Well  —  he  '11  live  only  in  a 
house  in  which  all  the  tenants  are  private  families. 

Madame  Nerisse.  But  we  make  no  noise.  We  are 
not  in  any  way  objectionable. 

Monsieur  Mafflu.     Oh,  no,  no;  not  at  all. 

Madame  Nerisse.    Well,  then.'' 

Monsieur  Mafflu.  How  shall  I  explain.''  I  'm 
certain  you  're  perfectly  all  right,  and  all  the  ladies  who 
are  with  you  here  too,  but  I  've  had  to  give  in  that  house 
property  is  depreciated  by  people  that  work;  all  the 
more  if  the  people  are  ladies,  and  most  of  all  if  they  're 
ladies  who  write  books  or  bring  out  a  newspaper  with 
such  a  name  as  Woman  Free.  People  who  know  nothing 
about  it  think  from  such  a  name  —  oh,  bless  you,  I 
understand  all  that 's  rubbish,  but  —  well  —  the  letting 
value  of  the  house,  you  see.      [He  laughs] 

Madame  Nerisse.  The  sight  of  women  who  work  for 
their  living  offends  these  people,  does  it? 

Monsieur  Mafflu.  Yes,  that 's  the  idea.  A  woman 
who  works  is  always  a  little  —  hum  —  well  —  you 
know  what  I  mean.  Of  course  I  mean  nothing  to  annoy 
you. 

Madame  Nerisse.  You  mean  that  your  future  ten- 
ants don't  want  their  young  ladies  to  have  our  example 
before  them. 


Act  II        Woman  on  Her  Own  47 

Monsieur  Mafflu.  No!  That's  just  what  they 
don't.  Having  independent  sort  of  people  like  you 
about  makes  'em  uneasy.  For  me,  you  know,  I  would  n't 
bother  about  it  —  only  —  of  course  you  don't  see  it  this 
way,  but  you  're  odd  —  off  the  common  somehow.  You 
make  one  feel  queer. 

Madame  Nerisse.  But  there  are  plenty  of  women 
who  work. 

Monsieur  Mafflu.  Oh,  common  women,  yes;  oh, 
that 's  all  right. 

Madame  Nerisse.  If  you  have  children,  they  have 
nurses  and  governesses. 

Monsieur  Mafflu.  Oh,  those.  They  work,  of 
course.  They  work  for  me,  that 's  quite  different. 
But  you  —  What  bothers  these  ladies,  Madame  Mafflu 
and  all  the  others,  is  that  you  're  in  our  own  class. 
As  for  me  I  stick  to  the  old  saying,  "Woman's  place  is 
the  home." 

Madame  Nerisse.  But  there  are  women  who  have 
got  no  home. 

Monsieur  Mafflu.     That 's  their  own  fault. 

Madame  Nerisse.  Very  often  it 's  not  at  all  their 
own  fault.     Where  are  they  to  go?     Into  the  streets? 

Monsieur  Mafflu.  I  know,  I  know.  There  's  all 
that.     Still   women   can  work   without   being   feminists. 

Madame  Nerisse.  Have  you  any  idea  what  you 
mean  by  "feminist"? 

Monsieur  Mafflu.  Not  very  clear.  I  know  the 
people  I  live  among  don't  know  everything.  I  grant 
you  all  that.  But  Woman  Free!  Woman  Free! 
Madame  Mafflu  wants  to  know  what  liberty  —  or  what 
liberties  —  singular  or  plural ;  do  you  take  me  ?  —  ha  ! 
ha  !     There  might  be  questions  asked. 

Madame  Nerisse  [laughing]  You  must  do  me  the 
honor  of  introducing  me  to  Madame  Mafflu.  She  must 
be  an  interesting  woman.     I  '11  go  and  see  her. 


48  Woman  on  Her  Own        Act  II 

Monsieur  Mafflu.  Oh^  do !  But  not  on  a  Wednes- 
day. 

Madame  Nerisse.     Why  not? 

Monsieur  Mafflu.     'Cos  Wednesday  's  her  day. 

Madame  Nerisse  [gayly]  I  must  give  it  up,  then,  as 
I  'm  free  only  on  Wednesdays. 

Monsieur  Mafflu.  I  should  like  her  to  see  for  her- 
self how  nice  you  are.  Her  friends  have  been  talking 
to  her.  They  thought  that  you  —  well  —  they  say 
feminist  women  are  like  the  women  were  in  the  time  of 
the  Commune.  They  said  perhaps  you  'd  even  go  on  a 
deputation ! 

Madame  Nerisse.     You  wouldn't  approve  of  that? 

Monsieur  Mafflu.  Oh,  talkin'  of  that,  one  of  my 
friends  has  an  argument  nobody  can  answer.  "Let 
these  women,"  he  says,  "let  'em  do  their  military  ser- 
vice." 

Madame  Nerisse.  Well,  you  tell  him  that  if  men  make 
wars,  women  make  soldiers ;  and  get  killed  at  that  work 
too,  sometimes. 

Monsieur  Mafflu  [after  reflecting  for  some  mo- 
ments]     I  '11  tell  him,  but  he  won't  understand. 

Madame  Nerisse.  Well,  no  matter.  I  won't  detain 
you  any  longer,  Monsieur  Mafflu. 

Monsieur  Mafflu.  Oh !  Madame.  I  should  like 
to  stay  and  talk  to  you  for  hours. 

Madame  Nerisse   [laughing]      You  're  too  kind. 

Monsieur  Mafflu.     Then  you  forgive  me  ? 

Madame  Nerisse  [going  to  the  door  with  him]  What 
would  one  not  forgive  you? 

Monsieur  Mafflu  [turning  back]      I  say  — 

Madame  Nerisse.     No,  no.     Good-bye,  Monsieur. 

Monsieur  Mafflu.     Good-bye,  Madame. 

He  goes  out. 

Madame  Nerisse  [to  herself]  One  really  couldn't 
be  angry ! 


Act  II        Woman  on  Her  Own  49 

Therese  comes  in  with  a  little  moleskin  bag  on  her 
arm.  She  is  in  a  light  dress,  is  very  gay,  and  looks 
younger. 

Therese.  Good-morning,  Madame.  I  'm  so  sorry  to 
be  late.     I  met  Monsieur  Feliat,  my  godmother's  brother. 

Madame  Nerisse.     How  is  Madame  Gueret.^ 

Therese.     Very  well,  he  says. 

Madame  Nerisse.  And  does  Monsieur  Gueret  like 
his  new  home.'' 

Therese.    Yes,  very  much. 

Madame  Nerisse.    And  Madame  Gueret? 

Therese.     She  seems  to  be  quite  happy. 

Madame  Nerisse.  What  a  good  thing.  Here 's 
the  letter  Monsieur  Nerisse  has  written  for  you  to  that 
editor.     [She  hands  her  an  unsealed  letter} 

Therese.     Oh,  thank  you! 

Madame  Nerisse.  Did  you  find  out  when  he  could 
see  you? 

Therese.  To-morrow  at  two  o'clock.  Can  you  spare 
me  then? 

Madame  Nerisse.     Yes,  certainly. 

Therese.     Thank  you. 

Madame  Nerisse.  Why  don't  you  read  your  letter? 
You  see  it 's  open. 

Therese.     I  '11  shut  it  up. 

Madame  Nerisse.     Read  it. 

Therese.     Shall  I  ? 

Madame  Nerisse.     Yes,  do. 

Therese  [reading]  Oh,  it 's  too  much.  This  is 
too  kind.  With  a  letter  like  this  my  article  is  certain 
to  be  read.  Monsieur  Nerisse  is  kind!  Will  you  tell 
him  how  very  grateful  I  am? 

Madame  Nerisse  [coldly]  Yes.  [She  makes  an 
effort  to  be  kind]  I  '11  tell  him,  of  course.  But  I 
dictated  the  letter  myself.  Monsieur  Nerisse  only 
signed  it.     [She  rings] 


50  Woman  on  Her  Own        Act  II 

Therese.  Then  I  have  one  more  kindness  to  thank 
you  for. 

Madame  Nerisse  [to  the  page  boy]  I  expect 
Monsieur  Cazares. 

Boy.     Monsieur  —  .'' 

Madame  Nerisse.  Our  old  editor  —  Monsieur  Caza- 
res.    You  know  him  very  well. 

Boy.     Oh,  yes,  Madame,  yes ! 

Madame  Nerisse.  He  will  have  another  gentleman 
with  him.  You  must  show  them  straight  into  Mon- 
sieur Nerisse's  room  and  let  me  know. 

Boy.     Yes,  Madame. 

During  this  conversation  Therese  has  taken  off  her 
hat  and  put  it  into  a  cupboard.  She  has  opened  a 
green  cardboard  box  and  put  her  gloves  and  veil  into 
it  —  folding  the  latter  carefully  —  also  Monsieur 
Nerisse's  letter.  She  has  taken  out  a  little  mirror, 
given  some  touches  to  her  hair,  and  has  put  it  back. 
Finally  she  closes  the  box. 

Madame  Nerisse.  Monsieur  Cazares  is  bringing  us 
a  new  backer.  We  're  going  to  make  changes  in  the 
paper.  I  '11  tell  you  all  about  it  presently.  [With 
a  change  of  tone]  Tell  me,  what  was  there  between 
you  and  Monsieur  Cazares.'* 

Therese  [simply]      Nothing  at  all. 

Madame  Nerisse.  Is  n  't  he  just  a  wee  bit  in  love 
with  you? 

Therese.  I  have  n  't  the  least  idea.  He 's  said 
nothing  to  me  about  it,  if  he  is, 

Madame  Nerisse.  He  's  always  behaved  quite  nicely 
to  you.'' 

Therese.     Always. 

Madame  Nerisse.     And  Monsieur  Nerisse? 

Therese.     Monsieur   Nerisse?      I   don't  understand. 

Madame  Nerisse.  Oh,  yes,  you  do.  Has  he  ever 
made  love  to  you? 


Act  II        Woman  on  Her  Own  51 

Therese  [hurt]     Oh,  Madame  ! 

Madame  Nerisse  [looking  closely  at  her  and  then 
taking  both  her  hands  affectionately]  Forgive  me,  dear 
child.  I  know  how  good  and  straight  you  are.  You 
must  n't  mind  the  things  I  say.  Sometimes  I  'm  hor- 
rid I  know.  I  have  an  idea  that  Monsieur  Nerisse  is 
not  as  fond  of  me  as  he  used  to  be. 

Therese.     Oh,  indeed  that 's  only  your  fancy. 

Madame  Nerisse.  I  hope  so.  I  'm  a  bit  nervous  I 
think.  I  've  such  a  lot  of  trouble  with  the  paper  just 
now.  It 's  not  going  well.  [Gesture  of  Therese] 
We  're  going  to  try  something  fresh.  This  time  I  think 
it  '11  be  all  right.  You  '11  see  it  will.  [A  pause] 
What 's  that  ?  Did  he  call  >  I  'm  sure  that  idiot  of 
a  boy  has  n't  made  up  his  fire,  and  he  'd  never  think  of 
it.  He  's  like  a  great  baby.  [As  she  goes  towards 
Monsieur  Nerisse's  door  —  the  door  on  the  left  —  the 
door  on  the  right  opens,  and  Mademoiselle  Gregoire 
comes  in.  She  has  taken  off  her  hat.  Madame  Nerisse 
turns  to  her]  Why,  it 's  Mademoiselle  Gregoire !  You 
know,  Dr.  Gregoire  !  [To  Mademoiselle  Gregoire]  This 
is  Mademoiselle  Therese.  [They  shake  hands]  I 
spoke  to  you  about  her.  She  '11  explain  everything  to 
you  in  no  time.  I  '11  come  back  very  soon  and  introduce 
you  to  the  others.  Excuse  me  for  a  minute.  [She  goes 
out  to  the  left] 

Therese  [pleasantly]  I  really  don't  know  what 
Madame  Nerisse  wants  me  to  explain  to  you.  You  know 
our  paper? 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire.     No,  I  've  never  seen  it. 

Therese.  Never  seen  it!  Never  seen  Woman 
Free? 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire.  Never.  I  only  know  it 
by  name. 

Therese.  How  odd !  Well,  here  's  a  copy.  It 's  in 
two  parts,  you  see,   and  they  're  quite  different   from 


52  Woman  on  Her  Own        Act  II 

each  other.  Here  the  doctrine,  there  the  attractions. 
Madame  Nerisse  thought  of  that. 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire  {^reading  as  she  turns  over 
the  leaves^     "Votes  for  Women." 

Therese  [^reading  with  her'\  "Votes  for  Women,"  "  An 
End  of  Slavery."    And  then,  on  here,  lighter  things. 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire.     Frivolities? 

Therese.     Frivolities.     A   story.       "Beauty   Notes." 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire  [^reading  and  laughing  a 
little^,     "The  Doctor's  Page." 

Therese.  Oh,  too  bad !  But  it  was  n't  I  who  first 
said  frivolities ! 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire  {^still  laughingl  I  shall  bear 
up.     And  what  comes  after  "  The  Doctor's  Page  "t 

Therese.     "Beauty  Notes"  and  "Gleanings." 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire.     Gleanings  ? 

Therese.  Yes.  It 's  a  column  where  real  and  im- 
aginary subscribers  exchange  notes  about  cookery  re- 
ceipts, and  housekeeping  tips,  and  hair  lotions,  and  that 
sort  of  thing. 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire.     Quite  a  good  thing. 

Therese.     I  must  confess  it 's  the  best  read  part. 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire.     I  'm  not  at  all  surprised. 

Therese.  I  'm  afraid  we  can't  conceal  from  our- 
selves that  Monsieur  Nerisse  has  not  altogether  suc- 
ceeded. Each  of  us  is  inclined  to  like  only  her  own 
section.  We  've  a  girl  here,  Caroline  Legrand,  one  of 
the  staff,  who  's  tremendously  go-a-head.  You  should 
hear  her  on  the  subject  of  "  Soap  of  the  Sylphs  "  and 
"  Oriental  Balm." 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire.     It  makes  her  furious? 

Therese.  She's  a  sort  of  rampageous  saint;  fero- 
cious and  affectionate  by  turns,  a  bit  ridiculous  perhaps, 
but  delightful  and  generous.  She 's  so  simple  nasty 
people  could  easily  make  a  fool  of  her,  but  all  nice 
people  like  her. 


Act  II        Woman  on  Her  Own  53 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire.  Shall  I  have  much  to  do 
with  her? 

Therese.  Not  much.  You  '11  be  under  Mademoiselle 
de  Meuriot,  and  you  '11  be  lucky.  She  's  a  dear.  She  's 
been  sacrificing  herself  all  her  life.  She's  my  great 
friend  —  the  only  one  I  have. 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire  [taking  up  the  paper 
again]  But  how's  this?  Your  contributors  are  all 
men.  Gabriel  de  — ,  Camille  de  — ,  Claud  de  — ,  Rene 
de  — ,  Marcel  de  — . 

Therese.  Well!  I  never  noticed  that  before. 
They  're  the  pen-names  of  our  writers. 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire.    All  men's  names? 

Therese.  Yes.  People  still  think  more  of  men  as 
writers.  You  see  they  are  names  that  might  be  either 
a  man's  or  a  woman's.     Camille,  Rene,  Gabriel. 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire.  There  's  only  one  woman's 
name  —  Vicomtesse  de  Renneville. 

Therese.  That 's  snobbery  !  It 's  Madame  Nerisse's 
pen-name. 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire.  Well,  I  suppose  it 's  good 
business. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot  comes  in  at  the  back,  bring- 
ing a  packet  of  letters. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot,  The  post 's  come, 
Therese. 

Therese.  This  is  Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  [Intro- 
ducing Mademoiselle   Gregoire]      Our  new   contributor. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  You  're  welcome,  INIad- 
emoiselle. 

The  door  on  the  left  opens  and  Madame  Nerisse  ap- 
pears backwards,  still  talking  to  Monsieur  Nerisse,  who 
is  invisible  in  the  inner  room. 

Madame  Nerisse.  Yes,  dearest.  Yes,  dearest.  Yes, 
dearest. 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire  looks  up  at  Madame  Nerisse. 


54  Woman  on  Her  Own        Act  II 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot  and  Therese  turn  away  their 
heads  to  hide  their  smiles;  finally  Madame  Nerisse  shuts 
the  door,  not  having  noticed  anything,  and  comes  for- 
ward.    She  speaks  to  Mademoiselle  Gregoire. 

Madame  Nerisse.  Come,  my  dear.  I  '11  introduce 
you  to  the  others.  [To  Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot]  Ah ! 
the  post  has  come.  Open  the  letters,  Therese,  will 
you  ? 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.     Yes,  we  will. 

Madame  Nerisse  [at  the  door  on  the  right,  to  Made^ 
moiselle  Gregoire]      You  first.      [They  go  out] 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot  [smiling]  I  think  our 
new  friend  was  a  bit  amused.     She  's  pretty. 

Therese.     Yes,  and  she  looks  capable. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.     Let 's  get  to  work. 

She  sits  down  at  a  desk.  Therese  sits  near  her  at 
the  end  of  the  same  desk.  During  all  that  follows 
Therese  opens  envelopes  with  a  letter  opener  and  passes 
them  to  Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot,  who  takes  the  letters 
out,  glances  at  them,  and  makes  three  or  four  little  piles 
of  them. 

Therese.     Here !      [Holding  out  the  first  letter] 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot  [as  she  works]  And 
you?  How  are  you  this  morning?  [Looking  closely  at 
her  and  shaking  a  finger]  You  're  tired,  little  girl. 
You  sat  up  working  last  night. 

Therese.  I  wanted  to  finish  copying  out  my  manu- 
script. It  took  me  ages,  because  I  wanted  to  make  it 
as  clear  as  print. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot  [gravely]  You  know 
you  must  n't  be  ill,  Therese. 

Therese.  How  good  you  are,  Mademoiselle,  and  how 
lucky  I  am  to  have  you  for  a  friend.  What  should  I 
do  without  you? 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  How  about  your  god- 
mother ? 


Act  II        Woman  on  Her  Own  55 

Therese.  I  did  n't  get  on  with  her.  She  never 
could  hide  her  dislike  for  me,  and  it  burst  out  in  the 
end.  When  she  saw  that  in  spite  of  everything  she 
could  say  I  was  going  to  leave  her,  she  let  herself  go 
and  made  a  dreadful  scene.  And,  what  was  worse,  my 
good,  kind  godfather  joined  in!  It  seemed  as  if  they 
thought  my  wanting  to  be  independent  was  a  direct  in- 
sult to  them.     What  a  lot  of  letters  there  are  to-day. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  It 's  the  renewal  of  the 
subscriptions. 

Therese.  Oh,  is  that  it?  So  you  see  we  parted, 
not  exactly  enemies  —  but,  well  —  on  our  dignity.  We 
write  little  letters  to  one  another  now,  half  cold  and  half 
affectionate.  I  tell  you,  without  you  I  should  be  quite 
alone. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  Not  more  alone  than 
I  am. 

Therese.  I  have  someone  to  talk  to  now  and  tell 
my  little  worries  to.  It 's  not  that,  even.  One  always 
finds  people  ready  to  listen  to  you  and  pity  you,  but 
what  one  does  n't  find  is  people  one  can  tell  one's  most 
impossible  dreams  to  and  feel  sure  one  won't  be  laughed 
at.  That 's  real  friendship.  [She  stops  working  as  she 
continues]  To  dare  to  think  out  loud  before  another 
person  and  let  her  see  the  gods  of  one's  secret  idol- 
atry, and  to  be  sure  one  's  not  exposing  one's  precious 
things  to  blasphemy.  How  I  love  you  for  being  like 
you  are  and  for  caring  for  me  a  little.  [She  resumes 
her  work] 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  I  don't  care  for  you  a 
little,  Therese !  I  care  for  you  very  much  indeed.  I 
like  you  because  you  're  brave  and  hurl  yourself  against 
obstacles  like  a  little  battering  ram,  and  because  you  're 
straight  and  honest  and  one  can  depend  on  you. 

Therese  [xcho  can't  get  open  the  letter  she  holds] 
Please  pass  me  the  scissors.     Thanks.      [She  cuts  open 


56  Woman  on  Her  Own        Act  II 

the  envelope]  I  might  have  been  all  those  things,  and  it 
would  have  been  no  good  at  all,  if  you  had  n't  been  able 
to  see  them. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  Remember  that  in  be- 
ing friends  with  you  I  get  as  much  as  I  give.  My 
people  were  very  religious  and  very  proud  of  their  title. 
I  made  up  my  mind  to  leave  home,  but  since  then  I  've 
been  quite  alone  —  alone  for  thirty  years.  I  'm  selfish 
in  my  love  for  you  now.  I  've  had  so  little  of  that 
sort  of  happiness. 

Therese.  You  've  done  so  much  for  women.  You  've 
helped  so  many. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot  [touching  her  piles  of 
letters]     Here  's  another  who  vi^on't  renew. 

Therese.  What  will  Madame  Nerisse  say.''  [Con- 
tinuing] You  know.  Mademoiselle,  it 's  not  only  suc- 
cess that  I  want.  I  have  a  great  ambition.  I  should 
like  to  think  that  because  I  've  lived  there  might  be  a 
little  less  suffering  in  the  world.  That 's  the  sort  of 
thing  that  I  can  say  to  nobody  but  you. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot  [tenderly/]  Therese  has 
an  ardent  soul. 

Therese.  Yes,  Therese  has  an  ardent  soul.  It  was 
you  who  said  that  about  me  first,  and  I  think  I  deserve 
it.  [Changing  her  tone]  Here 's  the  subscriber's 
book.  [She  hands  the  book  and  continues  in  her  former 
voice]  Like  Guyau,  I  have  more  tears  than  I  need  to 
spend  on  my  own  sufferings,  so  I  can  give  the  spare 
ones  to  other  people.  And  not  only  tears,  but  courage 
and  consolation  that  I  have  no  opportunity  of  using  up 
myself.     Do  you  understand  what  I  mean? 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  Yes,  I  understand,  my 
dear.  I  see  my  own  youth  over  again.  [Sadly]  Oh, 
I  hope  that  you  —  but  I  don't  want  to  rouse  up  those 
old  ghosts;  I  should  only  distress  you.  Perhaps  lives 
like  mine  are  necessary,  if  it 's  only  to  throw  into  relief 


Act  II        Woman  on  Her  Own  57 

lives  that  are  more  beautiful  than  mine.  Keep  your 
lovely  dreams.  [A  silence]  When  I  think  that  instead 
of  being  an  old  maid  I  might  have  been  the  mother  of 
a  girl  like  you  ! 

Therese  gleaning  towards  her  and  kissing  her  hair^ 
Don't  cry. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot  [tears  in  her  eyes  and  a 
smile  upon  her  lips]  No,  no,  I  won't;  and  when  I 
think  that  somewhere  or  other  there 's  a  man  you 
love! 

Therese  [smiling]  Some  day  or  other  I  must  tell 
you  a  whole  lot  of  things  about  Rene. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  Have  you  seen  him 
again  ? 

Therese.     Yes. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  But  you  were  supposed 
not  to  meet  any  more. 

Therese  [with  a  mutinous  little  smile]  Yes,  we  were 
supposed  not  to  meet  any  more.  One  says  those  things 
and  then  one  meets  all  the  same.  If  Rene  had  gone  on 
being  the  feeble  and  lamentable  young  man  that  I  parted 
from  the  Barberine  evening,  I  should  perhaps  have  never 
seen  him  again.  You  don't  know  what  my  Rene  has 
done,  do  you  now? 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.     No. 

Therese.  I  've  been  looking  forward  so  to  telling 
you.  [Eagerly]  Well,  he's  quite  changed.  He's 
become  a  different  man.  Oh,  he  's  not  a  marvel  of 
energy  even  yet,  but  he  's  not  the  helpless  youth  who 
was  still  feeding  out  of  his  father's  hands  at  twenty- 
five. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  And  how  has  this  great 
improvement  come  about? 

Therese  [looking  at  her  knowingly]  You  '11  make 
me  blush. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.     Was  it  for  love  of  you? 


58  Woman  on  Her  Own        Act  II 

Thkrkse.  I  think  it  was  for  love  of  me.  Let  me 
tell  you.  He  wanted  to  see  me  again,  and  he  waited 
at  the  door  wlien  I  was  coming  out  from  my  work,  just 
as  if  J  was  a  little  milliner's  assistant.  And  then  he 
came  back  another  evening,  and  then  another.  While 
we  were  walking  from  here  to  my  place  we  chattered, 
and  chattered,  and  chattered.  We  had  more  to  say 
to  each  other  than  we  'd  ever  had  before,  and  I  began 
to  realize  that  his  want  of  will  and  energy  was  more 
the  result  of  always  hanging  on  to  his  people  than  any- 
thing else.  Then  there  came  a  crash.  \^She  laughs] 
A  most  fortunate  crash.  His  father  formally  ordered 
liim  not  to  see  me  again ;  threatened,  if  he  did,  to  stop 
liis  allowance.  What  do  you  think  my  Rene  did?  He 
sent  back  the  cheque  his  peo))le  had  just  given  him 
with  quite  a  nice,  civil,  respectful  letter.  Then  he  left 
his  office  and  got  a  place  in  a  business  house  at  an  ab- 
surdly small  salary,  and  lie  's  been  working  there  ever 
since.  [Lauf/hing]  He  shocked  all  the  other  young 
men  in  the  office  by  the  way  he  stuck  to  it.  He  got 
gradu.'illy  interested  in  what  he  had  to  do.  He  read  it 
all  up;  the  heads  of  th<;  firm  noticed  him  and  were  civil 
to  him,  and  now  they  've  sent  him  on  important  business 
to  Tunis.  And  that 's  what  he  's  done  all  for  love  of 
me !  Now,  don't  you  think  1  ought  to  care  for  him  a 
little.?'     Don't  you? 

Madkmoihklle  i)k  Mkuhiot.  Yes,  my  dear.  But 
then  if  he  's  in  Tunis  ? 

TnionKSR.     Oh,  he  '11  come  back. 

Madkmoisei.lk  de  Meuriot.  And  when  will  the 
wedding  be? 

TiiERicsE.  He  's  sure  his  people  will  give  in  in  the 
end  if  he  can  make  some  money.     We  shall  wait. 

l^he  page  hoy  comes  in  with  seven  or  eight  round 
parcels  in  liis  arms. 

Boy.     Here  are  this  morning's  manuscripts. 


Act  II        Woman  on  Her  Own  59 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  Put  them  with  the 
others. 

Boy.  There  was  one  lady  was  quite  determined  to 
see  you  herself.  She  said  her  article  was  most  partic- 
ular.    It 's  among  that  lot. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.     Very  well. 

Boy.      Mademoiselle  Caroline  Legrand  is  coming. 

He  opens  the  door  and  stands  hack  to  allow  Caroline 
Legrand  to  come  in.  She  is  dressed  in  a  long  brown 
tailor-made  overcoat  and  a  white  waistcoat,  with  a  yel- 
low necktie. 

Caroline  Legrand.     Good-morning,  Meuriot. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  Good-mornings  Caro- 
line Legrand.      [They  shake  hands] 

Caroline  Legrand.  It  seems  there  's  something  new 
going  on  here. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  I  believe  there  is,  but 
I  know  nothing  about  it. 

Caroline  Legrand.  I  expect  the  paper  's  not  going 
well,  the  jam  has  n't  hidden  the  pill.  Even  Madame 
Nerisse's  thirtieth  article  upon  divorce  at  the  desire 
of  one  party  has  n't  succeeded  in  stirring  up  enthusiasm 
this  time.  She  's  been  preaching  up  free  love,  but  she 
really  started  the  paper  only  because  she  thought  it 
would  help  her  to  get  the  law  changed  and  allow  her 
to  marry  her  "dearest." 

Therese.  Mademoiselle  Legrand,  I  have  some  news 
that  will  please  you. 

Caroline  Legrand.     Are  all  the  men  dead? 

Therese.  No,  not  yet;  but  I  've  heard  that  in  a  small 
country  town  they  're  starting  a  Woman's  Trade  Union. 

Caroline  Legrand.  It  won't  succeed.  Women  are 
too  stupid. 

Therese.  They  've  opened  a  special  workshop  there, 
and  they  're  going  to  have  work  that  's  always  been  done 
by  men  done  by  women. 


60  Woman  on  Her  Own        Act  II 

Caroline  Legrand.  That 's  splendid !  A  woman 
worker  the  more  is  a  slave  the  less. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot  [gravely]  Are  you  quite 
sure  of  that? 

Caroline  Legrand.  Oh,  don't  you  misunderstand 
me!  [Forcibly]  Listen  to  this.  A  time  will  come 
when  people  will  be  as  ashamed  of  having  made  women 
work  as  they  are  ashamed  now  of  having  kept  slaves. 
But,  until  then  — 

Therese.     The  employer  is  rather  disturbed  about  it. 

Caroline  Legrand.  He  's  quite  right.  Very  soon 
there  '11  be  a  fierce  reaction  among  the  men  about  this 
cheap  women's  labor.  There  's  going  to  be  a  new  sex 
struggle  —  the  struggle  for  bread.  Man  will  use  all 
his  strength  and  all  his  cruelty  to  defend  himself. 
There  's  a  time  coming  when  gallantry  and  chivalry  will 
go  by  the  board,  /  can  tell  you. 

Madame  Nerisse  comes  in. 

Madame  Nerisse.  Oh,  good-morning,  Legrand. 
I  'm  glad  you  're  here.  I  've  been  wanting  to  ask  your 
advice  about  a  new  idea  I  want  to  start  in  Woman  Free. 
A  correspondence  about  getting  up  a  league  of  society 
women  — 

Caroline  Legrand.     What  about  the  others  ? 

Madame  Nerisse  [contijiuing,  without  attending  to 
her]  —  and  smart  people,  who  will  undertake  not  to 
wear  ornaments  in  their  hats  made  of  the  wings  or  the 
plumage  of  birds. 

Caroline  Legrand.  You  're  giving  up  Woman  Free 
for  Birds  Free,  then  ? 

Madame  Nerisse.     What  do  you  mean? 

Caroline  Legrand.  You  'd  better  make  a  league  to 
do  away  with  hats  altogether  as  a  protest  against  the 
sweating  of  the  women  who  stitch  the  straw  at  famine 
prices  and  make  the  ribbon  at  next  to  nothing.  I  shall 
be  more  concerned  for  the  fate  of  the  sparrows  when 


Act  II        Woman  on  Her  Own  61 

I    have  n't    got    to    concern    myself   about    the    fate    o£ 
sweated  women. 

Madame  Nerisse,  Well,  of  course.  That 's  the 
article  we  've  got  to  write. 

Caroline  Legrand.     Of  course. 

Madame  Nerisse.  We  '11  write  it  in  the  form  of  a 
letter  to  a  member  of  parliament  —  it  had  better  be  a 
man,  because  we  're  going  to  put  him  in  the  wrong  —  a 
member  of  parliament  who  wants  to  form  the  league 
I  suggested.  What  you  said  about  the  sparrows  will 
be  a  splendid  tag  at  the  end.     Will  you  write  it.'' 

Caroline  Legrand.  Rather !  It 's  lucky  you  don't 
stick  to  your  ideas  very  obstinately,  because  they  can 
sometimes  be  improved  upon.  I  think  I  shall  write  your 
paper  for  you  in  future. 

Madame  Nerisse.  Go  along  and  send  me  in  Made- 
moiselle Gregoire  and  Madame  Chanteuil.  They  '11 
bother  you,  and  I  want  them  here. 

Caroline  Legrand.  To  write  about  "Soap  of  the 
Sylphs."     /  know. 

She  goes  out  to  the  right. 

Madame  Nerisse.  She  's  a  little  mad,  but  she  really 
has  good  ideas  sometimes. 

The  page  boy  comes  in. 

Boy  [to  Madame  Nerisse]  The  gentlemen  are  there. 
Monsieur  Cazares  and  another  gentleman. 

Madame  Nerisse.     Are  they  with  Monsieur  Nerisse? 

Boy.     Yes,  Madame. 

Madame  Nerisse.  Very  well,  I  '11  go.  [The  boy 
goes  out.  She  speaks  to  the  others]  Divide  the  work 
between  you.  [To  Madame  Chanteuil  and  Made- 
moiselle Gregoire,  who  come  in  from  the  right] 
There  's  lots  of  work  to  be  done.  [She  goes  out  to  the 
left] 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  We  'd  better  sit  down. 
[She  sits  down  and  says  what  follows  whilst  they  are 


62  Woman  on  Her  Own        Act  II 

taking  their  places  round  the  table.  She  takes  up  the 
first  letter]  This  is  for  the  advertising  department. 
Is  Mademoiselle  Baron  here? 

Therese.  No,  poor  little  thing.  She 's  trudging 
round  Paris  to  try  and  get  hold  of  a  few  advertisements. 

Madame  Chanteuil.  It's  a  dreadful  job,  trying  to 
get  advertisements  for  a  paper  that  three-quarters  of 
the  people  she  goes  to  have  never  heard  of.  It  gives 
me  the  shivers  to  remember  what  I  had  to  go  through 
myself  over  that  job. 

Therese.     And  poor  little  Baron  is  so  shy ! 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  She  earned  only  fifty 
francs  all  last  month. 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire.  I  know  her,  I  met  her 
lately;  she  told  me  she  was  in  luck,  that  she  had  an 
appointment  with  the  manager  of  the  Institut  de 
Jouvence. 

Madame  Chanteuil.     And  she  thinks  she's  in  luck! 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire.  It  appears  that  that 's  a 
place  where  you  can  do  quite  good  business. 

Madame  Chanteuil  [gravely]  Yes,  young  women 
can  do  business  there  if  they  're  pretty ;  but  have  you 
any  idea  what  price  they  pay.''  Nothing  would  induce 
me  to  put  my  foot  inside  the  place  again. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  Oh,  the  poor  little 
girl!  Oh,  dear!  [A  pause.  She  begins  to  sort  the 
letters] 

Therese  [half  to  herself]  It  seems  to  me  our  name 
Woman  Free  is  horrible  irony. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot  [holding  a  letter  in  her 
hand]  Oh,  Chanteuil,  what  have  you  done.''  Here's 
somebody  perfectly  furious.  She  says  she  asked  you 
to  give  her  some  information  in  the  beauty  column. 
[Reading]  It  was  something  she  was  mistaken  about. 
She  wrote  under  the  name  of  "Always  Young,"  and 
apparently  you  've  answered  "  Always  Young  is  a  mis- 


Act  II        Woman  on  Her  Own  63 

take."  She  thinks  you  did  it  to  insult  her.  You  must 
write  her  a  letter  of  apologies. 

Madame  Chanteuil.     Yes,  Mademoiselle. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot  [holding  up  another 
letter'}  "  Little  Questions  of  Sentiment."  This  is  for 
you,  Therese.  [She  reads}  "  I  feel  so  sad  because  I 
am  getting  old,"  etc.     Answer,  "  Why  this  sadness  — " 

Therese.  "  White  hairs  are  a  crown  of  —  "  [She 
writes  a  few  words  in  pencil  upon  the  letter  which 
Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot  has  passed  to  her} 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  "  Astral  Influences." 
[Looking  round}     Who  is  "  Astral  Influences  "  ? 

Madame  Chanteuil.     I  am. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot  [passing  her  letters} 
Here  are  two,  three  —  one  without  a  post  office  order. 
Put  that  one  straight  into  the  waste  paper  basket.  Re- 
member that  you  must  always  promise  them  luck,  with 
little  difficulties  to  give  success  more  flavor.  And  be 
sure  to  tell  them  they  're  full  of  good  qualities,  with 
some  little  amiable  weaknesses  and  the  sort  of  defects 
one  enjoys  boasting  about.  [Going  on  reading} 
"  About  using  whites  of  eggs  to  take  the  sharpness  out 
of  sorrel,"  "  To  take  out  ink-stains."  These  are  for 
you,  dear. 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire.  Yes.  [She  takes  the 
letters}      I  did  n't  think  of  that  when  I  took  my  degree. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot  [continuing}  "  Stout- 
ness"; that's  for  you  too.  [Glancing  again  at  the 
letter}  What  does  this  one  want?  [Fluttering  the 
leaves}  Four  pages;  ah,  here  we  are —  "A  slender 
figure  —  smaller  hips  —  am  not  too  stout  anywhere 
else."  That  's  for  the  doctor.  [She  gives  the  letter  to 
Mademoiselle  Gregoire  with  several  others} 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire.     lodiform  soap. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  My  dear,  not  at  all, 
"  Soap  of  the  Sylphs." 


64 


Woman  on  Her  Own        Act  II 


Mademoiselle  Gregoire.  But  that 's  exactly  the 
same  thing. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  I  know  that.  But  it 
sounds  so  different.  [Taking  another  letter'\  "  A  red 
nose  " — 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire.     Lemon  juice. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot  [continuing^  "  Super- 
fluous hairs."  Be  sure  to  recommend  the  cream  that 
gives  us  advertisements;  don't  make  any  mistake  about 
that.  "  Black  specks  on  the  chin/'  "  Wrinkles  round 
the  eyes." 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire.     There  's  no  cure  for  that. 

Madame  Chanteuil.  Tell  her  to  go  to  bed  early 
and  alone. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  That 's  too  easy,  she 
wouldn't  believe  in  it.  Find  something  else.  [Continu- 
ing to  read]  "  To  make  them  firm  without  enlarging 
them  " ;  that 's  for  you  too.  And  all  the  rest  I  think. 
"  To  whiten  the  teeth,"  "  To  make  the  hair  lisrhter,"  "  To 
give  firmness  to  the  bust." 

Madame  Chanteuil.     They  're  always  asking  that. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot  [reading]  "  To  enlarge 
the  eyes,"  "  get  rid  of  wrinkles  "  —  "  and  double  chins  " 
—  "a  clear  complexion  "  —  "  to  keep  young  "  —  ouf ! 
That 's  all.  No,  here 's  one  that  wants  white  arms. 
They  're  all  alike,  poor  women ! 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire.  And  all  that  to  please 
men, 

Madame  Chanteuil.  To  please  a  man  more  than 
some  other  woman,  and  so  to  be  fed,  lodged,  and  kept 
by  him. 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire  [between  her  teeth]  Kept 
is  the  right  word. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  Ah,  here 's  Made- 
moiselle Baron.  [To  Mademoiselle  Baron]  Well.'' 
What  luck.? 


Act  II        Woman  on  Her  Own  65 

Mademoiselle  Baron  [^miserably]  There  's  no  one  in 
the  office.  I  've  got  the  signed  contract  for  the  adver- 
tisements of  the  Institut  de  Jouvence.  Now  I  must  go 
on  to  the  jorinters.     Here  it  is.     Good-bye.     [A  silence^ 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot  [m  a  suffocated  voice^ 
Good-bye,  my  dear. 

They  watch  her  go  sadly.     A  long  silence. 

Therese  [speaking  with  great  emotion]  Poor,  poor 
little  thing! 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot  [also  quite  overcome, 
slowly]  Perhaps  she  has  someone  at  home  who 's 
hungry. 

They  each  respond  by  a  sigh  or  an  ouf!  Made- 
moiselle Gregoire,  Madame  Chanteuil,  and  Mademoiselle 
de  Meuriot  rise,  picking  up  their  papers. 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire.  I  must  go  and  see  to  the 
"  Doctor's  Page." 

Madame  Chanteuil.  And  I  to  the  "  Gleaner's 
Column." 

They  go  out  to  the  right.  Therese  rests  her  chin  on 
her  two  hands  and  reflects  profoundly.  Monsieur 
Nerisse  comes  in  at  the  back, 

Nerisse  [speaking  back  to  the  people  he  has  left  in 
his  office  in  an  irritated  voice]  Do  as  you  like.  I  've 
told  you  my  opinion.  I  wash  my  hands  of  it.  When 
your  draft  is  ready  show  it  to  me.  [He  shuts  the 
door.  Therese,  when  she  hears  his  voice,  has  gathered 
up  her  papers  and  is  making  for  the  door  on  the  right. 
He  calls  her  back]      Mademoiselle! 

Therese.     Monsieur ! 

Nerisse.  Listen.  I  have  something  to  say  to  you. 
[Therese  returns]  Did  Madame  Nerisse  give  you  the 
letter  of  introduction  I  wrote  for  you.'' 

Therese.  Yes,  Monsieur.  Please  forgive  me  for  not 
having  thanked  you  before. 

Nerisse.     It 's  nothing. 


66  Woman  on  Her  Own        Act  II 

Therese.     Indeed  it 's  a  great  deal. 

Nerisse.     Nothing. 

Therese.  Yes.  I  'm  sure  to  be  received  quite  dif- 
ferently with  that  letter  from  what  I  should  be  with- 
out it. 

Nerisse.  I  can  give  you  any  number  of  letters  like 
that.     May  I.^ 

Therese  [coldly]      No,  thank  you. 

Nerisse.    You  won't  let  me.'' 

Therese.     No. 

Nerisse.     Why.'' 

Therese.     You  know  very  well  why. 

Nerisse.  You  're  still  angry  with  me.  You  do 
yourself  harm  by  the  way  you  treat  me^  you  do  indeed. 
Listen,  this  is  the  sort  of  thing.  Moranville,  the  editor 
of  the  review  I  was  talking  about,  is  going  to  meet  me 
at  my  restaurant  after  dinner.  I  know  he  wants  just 
such  stories  as  you  write.  But  Moranville  reads  only 
the  manuscripts  of  people  he  knows  —  he  has  a  craze 
about  it.  Well,  I  hardly  dare  propose  to  you  a  thing 
which  nevertheless  is  perfectly  natural  among  colleagues, 
to  come  and  dine  with  me  first  and  meet  him  after.  I 
hardly  like —  [Therese  draws  herself  up]  You  see, 
I  'm  right.     You  don't  trust  me. 

Therese.  On  the  contrary,  I  '11  go  gladly.  Madame 
Nerisse  will  be  with  you  of  course? 

Nerisse  [annoyed]  Madame  Nerisse !  Nonsense ! 
Do  you  suppose  I  drag  her  everywhere  I  go.''  Say  no 
more  about  it.  Whatever  I  say  will  only  make  you  sus- 
picious. [With  a  sigh]  All  this  misunderstanding  and 
suspicion  is  horrible  to  me.  How  stupid  the  world  is ! 
There  are  times  when  I  feel  disgusted  with  everything, 
myself  included !  I  'm  getting  old.  I  'm  a  failure. 
I  'm  losing  my  time  and  wasting  my  life  over  this  ridicu- 
lous paper,  which  will  never  be  anything  but  an  ob- 
scure rag.     I  shall  have  done  for  myself  soon. 


Act  II        Woman  on  Her  Own  67 

Therese  [azclcrvardly,  for  something  to  soy^  Don't 
say  that. 

Nerisse.  Yes,  I  shall.  I  might  have  a  chance  of 
saving  myself  yet  if  I  took  things  energetically  and  got 
free  of  the  whole  thing.  But  I  should  have  to  be  quick 
about  it.  \_A  silence.  Therese  does  not  know  what  to 
say  and  does  not  dare  to  leave  the  room^  I  'm  so  low 
—  so  unhappy ! 

Therese.     So  unhappy? 

Nerisse.  Yes.  [Another  silence.  Madame  Nerisse 
comes  in  and  looks  at  them  pointedly^  Are  they 
gone? 

Madame  Nerisse.     Yes,  they  're  gone. 

Nerisse.     Is  it  all  settled? 

Madame  Nerisse.  Yes.  I  am  to  meet  them  at  the 
bank  at  four.  But  they  would  n't  give  way  on  the  ques- 
tion of  reducing  expenses  as  regards  the  contributors. 

Nerisse.     And  the  dates  of  publication? 

Madame  Nerisse.  We  are  to  come  out  fortnightly 
instead  of  weekly.  [^Indicating  the  door  on  the  right] 
You  must  go  and  speak  to  them. 

Nerisse.      Is  Therese's  salary  to  be  reduced  too? 

Madame  Nerisse.  It  would  be  impossible  to  make 
distinctions. 

Nerisse.  Difficult,  yes.  Still  —  I  think  one  might 
have  managed  to  do  something  for  her. 

Madame  Nerisse.  I  cannot  see  how  she  differs  from 
the  others.     Can  you? 

Nerisse.     Oh,  well  —  say  no  more  about  it. 

Madame  Nerisse.  That  will  be  best.  [He  goes  out 
to  the  right.  To  herself]  I  should  think  so  indeed ! 
[To  Therese]  While  Monsieur  Nerisse  was  talking  to 
the  other  man  I  had  a  chat  with  Monsieur  Cazares. 
He  was  talking  about  you.  He  's  a  nice  fellow,  and 
it 's  quite  a  good  family  you  know.  He  's  steady  and 
fairly  well  off  —  very  well  off. 


68  Woman  on  Her  Own        Act  II 

Therese  [laughing]      You  talk  as  if  you  were  offering 
me  a  husband ! 

Nerisse.     And  what  would  you  say  supposing  he  had 
asked  me  to  sound  you  ? 

Therese.     I  should  say  that  I  was  very  much  obliged, 
but  that  I  decline  the  honor. 

Nerisse.     What's  wrong  with  him? 

Therese.     Nothing. 

Madame  Nerisse.     Well  then? 

Therese.     You  can't  marry  upon  that. 

Madame  Nerisse.  Have  you  absolutely  made  up 
your  mind? 

Therese.     Absolutely. 

Madame  Nerisse.  I  think  you  're  making  a  mistake. 
I  think  it  all  the  more  because  this  chance  comes  just 
at  a  time  —  well,  you  '11  understand  what  I  mean  when 
I  've  told  you  something  that  I  have  to  say  to  you  as 
manageress  of  Woman  Free.  It 's  this.  You  know 
that  in  spite  of  all  we  could  do  we  've  had  to  hunt  about 
for  more  capital.  We  've  found  some,  but  we  've  had 
to  submit  to  very  severe  conditions.  The  most  impor- 
tant is  that  they  insist  upon  a  stringent  cutting  down  of 
expenses.  Instead  of  coming  out  every  week,  Woman 
Free  will  be  a  fortnightly  in  future,  and  we  've  been 
obliged  to  consent  to  reducing  the  salaries  of  the  con- 
tributors in  proportion. 

Therese.     How  much  will  they  be  reduced? 

Madame  Nerisse.     In  proportion  I  tell  you.     They  '11 
be  cut  down  by  one  half. 

Therese.     And  I  sliall  not  have  enough  to  live  upon 
even  in  the  simplest  way. 

Madame  Nerisse.     That  was  exactly  what  I  said  to 
them.     And  the  work  will  not  be  the  same. 
Therese.     My  work  will  not  be  the  same? 
Madame  Nerisse.     No;  you  will  be  obliged  to  work 
at  night. 


Act  II        Woman  on  Her  Own  69 

Therese.     At  night? 

Madame  Nerisse.     Yes. 

Therese.     But  then  I  shall  be  free  all  day. 

Madame  Nerisse.  No,  you  won't.  In  the  daytime 
you  will  have  to  take  charge  of  the  business  part  of 
the  paper,  and  in  the  evening  too  your  work  will 
not  be  purely  literary,  but  more  of  an  administrative 
character. 

Therese.  It  appears  to  me  that  I  'm  asked  to  accept 
a  smaller  salary  and  to  do  double  work  for  it. 

Madame  Nerisse.  I  am  conveying  to  you  the  offers 
of  the  new  Directors ;  if  they  don't  suit  you,  you  have 
only  to  refuse  them. 

Therese.  Of  course  I  refuse  them,  and  you  may 
say  to  the  people  who  have  made  them  that  they  must 
be  shameful  sweaters  to  dare  to  offer  women  salaries 
that  leave  them  no  choice  between  starvation  and 
degradation. 

Madame  Nerisse.  Those  are  strong  words,  my 
dear,  and  you  seem  to  forget  very  quickly  — 

Therese  \^softening^  Yes.  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon. 
But  think  for  a  minute,  Madame,  and  you  '11  forgive 
me  for  being  angry.  I  hardly  know  what  I  'm  saying. 
[Madame  Nerisse  half  turns  away^  Listen,  oh  listen ! 
Forget  what  I  said  just  now;  I  '11  explain  to  you.  I 
accept  the  reduction  of  salary.  I  '11  manage.  I  '11 
get  my  expenses  down.  Only  I  can't  consent  to  give 
up  all  my  time.  You  know  I  have  some  work  in  hand; 
you  know  I  have  a  big  undertaking  to  which  I  've  given 
all  my  life.  I  've  told  you  about  it,  you  know  about 
that.  You  know  I  can  only  stand  my  loneliness  and 
everything  because  of  the  hope  I  have  about  this.  If 
people  take  all  my  time,  it 's  the  same  as  if  they  killed 
me.  I  beg  you,  I  implore  you,  get  them  to  leave  me 
my  evenings  free. 

Madame  Nerisse.     It  can't  be  done. 


70  Woman  on  Her  Own        Act  II 

Therese  [pulling  herself  together]  Very  well, 
that 's  settled.  I  will  go  at  the  end  of  the  month ; 
that 's  to  say  to-morrow. 

Madame  Nerisse.     Take  a  little  time  to  consider  it. 

Therese.  I  have  considered  it.  They  propose  that 
I  should  commit  suicide.     I  say  no ! 

Madame  Nerisse.  I  'm  sorry,  truly  sorry.  [She 
rings.  While  she  waits  for  the  bell  to  be  answered,  she 
looks  searchingly  at  Therese,  who  does  not  notice  it.  To 
the  page  boy  who  comes  in]  Go  and  call  me  a  taxi, 
but  first  say  to  Monsieur  Nerisse  — 

Boy.     Monsieur  Nerisse  has  just  gone  out,  Madame. 

Madame  Nerisse.    Are  you  quite  sure? 

Boy.     I  called  him  a  taxi. 

Madame  Nerisse.  Very  well,  you  can  go.  [To 
Therese]  I  '11  ask  you  for  your  final  answer  this 
evening.  [She  hands  her  two  large  books]  If  you  make 
up  your  mind  to  stay,  make  me  those  two  bibliographies. 

Therese  does  not  answer.  Madame  Nerisse  goes  out 
to  the  left.  Left  alone  Therese  begins  to  sort  the  papers 
on  her  bureau  rather  violently.  She  seizes  a  paper 
knife,  flings  it  upon  the  couch,  and  afterwards  walks  up 
and  down  the  room  in  great  agitation.  The  door  on  the 
right  opens  and  there  come  in  such  exclamations  as  No! 
Never!  It 's  monstrous!  I  shall  leave!  It 's  an  in- 
sult! 

Caroline  Legrand,  Mademoiselle  Gregoire,  Madame 
Chanteuil,  and  Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot  come  in. 
Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot  is  the  only  one  who  has  kept 
her  self-possession. 

Mademoiselle  Gregoire  [speaking  above  the  din] 
Good-bye,  all.  [She  goes  to  the  small  salon  from 
•which  she  originally  came  in,  and  during  the  conversa- 
tion that  follows  comes  in  putting  on  her  hat,  and  goes 
out  unnoticed  at  the  back] 

Therese.     Well,  what  do  you  think  of  this .'' 


Act  II        Woman  on  Her  Own  71 

Madame  Chanteuil  and  Caroline  Legrand  [to- 
gether]     It 's  an  insult. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  You  must  try  and  keep 
quiet.      [To  Therese]      What  shall  you  do? 

Therese.     I  shall  leave. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.     You  ought  to  stay. 

Madame  Chanteuil.  No,  Therese  is  right.  We 
must  all  leave. 

Therese.  We  must  leave  to-morrow  —  no,  this 
evening. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot  [quietly]  Do  you  think 
that  you  '11  be  able  to  make  better  terms  anywhere 
else  } 

Therese.     That  won't  be  difficult. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.     You  think  so? 

Therese.     Rather. 

Caroline  Legrand.     Where,  for  instance? 

Therese.  There  are  other  papers  in  Paris  besides 
this  one. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  Then  you  know  a  lot 
of  others  that  pay  better? 

Therese.     One  will  be  enough  for  me. 

Caroline  Legrand.  And  you  think  you  '11  find  a 
place  straight  off?  You  know  there  are  other 
people  — 

Therese.     I  '11  give  lessons.     I  took  my  degree. 

Caroline  Legrand.     Much  good  may  it  do  you. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  You  think  you  '11  be  a 
governess?  At  one  time  a  governess  could  get  1,200 
francs,  now  it 's  650  francs  —  less  than  the  cook. 
And  if  you  were  to  be  a  companion  — 

Therese.     Why  not  a  lady's  maid  at  once? 

Caroline  Legrand.  Yes ;  lady's  maid.  That 's  not 
a  bad  idea.  It 's  the  only  occupation  a  girl  brought  up 
as  rich  people  bring  up  their  daughters  can  be  certain 
to  get  and  to  keep,  if  she  's  only  humble  enough. 


72  Woman  on  Her  Own        Act  II 

Therese.  I  shall  manage  to  get  along  without  taking 
to  that. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  But,  Therese,  have  you 
really  been  blind  to  all  that 's  been  going  on  here  ? 
Have  n't  you  constantly  seen  unfortunate  women,  as 
well  brought  up  and  as  well  educated  as  yourself,  com- 
ing hunting  for  work?  Don't  you  remember  that  ad- 
vertisement of  the  girl  that  Caroline  Legrand  was  in- 
terested in?  That  advertisement  has  been  appearing 
in  the  paper  for  the  last  three  months.  I  '11  read  it 
to  you.  [Caroline  Legrand  takes  up  a  number  of 
"Women  Free"  and  passes  it  to  Mademoiselle  de 
Meuriot]  Here  it  is.  [Reading]  "A  young  lady  of 
distinguished  appearance,  who  has  taken  a  high  cer- 
tificate for  teaching.  Good  musician.  Drawing,  Eng- 
lish, shorthand,  etc."  I  know  that  girl.  She  told  me 
all  about  her  life.  D' you  know  what  she's  offered? 
She  asked  two  francs  an  hour  for  teaching  the  piano. 
They  laughed  in  her  face,  because  for  that  they  could 
get  a  girl  who  'd  taken  first  prize  at  the  Conservatoire. 
They  gave  her  seventy-five  centimes.  Deduct  from  that 
seventy-five  centimes  the  price  of  the  journey  in  that  un- 
derground, the  wear  and  tear  of  clothes,  the  time  lost  in 
going  and  coming,  and  then  what  d'  you  think  is  left  ? 

Caroline  Legrand.  Let 's  be  just.  She  got  an- 
swers from  doubtful  places  abroad,  letters  from  old 
satyrs,  and  invitations  to  pose  for  the  "  movies." 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  What 's  left  then  ? 
The  stage.  It 's  quite  natural  you  should  think  of  the 
stage. 

Therese.     If  one  must. 

Caroline  Legrand,  If  one  must !  You  'd  con- 
descend to  it,  would  n't  you  ?    You  poor  child ! 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  You  can't  get  into  the 
Conservatoire  after  twenty-one.  Are  you  under  that? 
No.     Are  you  a  genius?     No.     Well  then? 


Act  II        Woman  on  Her  Own  73 

Caroline  Legrand.  Have  you  a  rich  lover  who  will 
back  you? 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  No.  Then  you  '11  get 
nothing  at  all  in  the  theatres  except  by  making  friends 
with  half  a  dozen  men  or  selling  yourself  to  one. 

Therese.  I  '11  go  into  a  shop.  At  any  rate,  when  it 
shuts  I  shall  be  free. 

Caroline  Legrand.  You  think  they  're  longing  for 
you,  don't  you  ?  You  forget  you  'd  have  to  know  things 
for  that  one  does  n't  learn  by  taking  a  degree ;  things 
like  shorthand  and  typewriting.  Do  you  know  there 
are  twenty  thousand  women  in  Paris  who  want  to  get 
into  shops  and  offices  and  can't  find  places.'* 

Madame  Chanteuil.  I  know  exactly  what 's  going 
to  become  of  me. 

Caroline  Legrand.  Now  you  're  going  to  say 
something  silly. 

Madame  Chanteuil.  You  think  so,  you  've  guessed. 
Well,  I  tell  you,  middle  class  girls  thrown  on  the  world 
as  we  are  can't  get  along  without  a  man  —  a  husband 
or  a  lover.  We  have  n't  got  the  key  of  the  prison 
door.  We  've  not  learned  a  trade.  We  've  learned  to 
smile,  and  dance,  and  sing  —  parlor  tricks.  All  that 's 
only  of  use  in  a  love  affair  or  a  marriage.  Without 
a  man  we  're  stranded.  Our  parents  have  brought  us 
all  up  for  one  career  and  one  only  —  the  man.  I  was 
a  fool  not  to  understand  before.     Now  I  see. 

Caroline  Legrand.  Look  here,  you  're  not  going  to 
take  a  lover? 

Madame  Chanteuil.     Suppose  I  am? 

Caroline  Legrand.  My  dear,  you  came  here  full 
of  indignation,  clamoring  against  the  state  of  society. 
You  called  yourself  a  feminist,  but  you,  and  women 
like  you,  are  feminists  only  when  it 's  convenient. 
There  are  no  real  feminists  except  ugly  women  like 
me  or  old  ones  like  Meuriot.     You  others  come  about 


74  Woman  on  Her  Own        Act  II 

us  in  a  swarm  and  then  drop  away  one  after  another 
to  go  off  to  some  man.  As  soon  as  a  lover  condescends 
to  throw  the  handkerchief  you're  up  and  off  to  him. 
You  want  to  be  slaves.  Go,  my  dear,  and  take  your 
lover.     That 's  your  fate.     Good-night.      [She  goes  out] 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot  [to  Madame  Chanteuil] 
Don't  listen  to  her,  you  poor  child.  Don't  ruin  all 
your  life  in  a  fit  of  despair. 

Madame  Chanteuil.  I  can't  stay  here.  I  'm  not  a 
saint  and  I  'm  not  a  fool.  How  can  I  live  on  what 
they  offer  to  pay  me? 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  Stay  for  a  little,  while 
you  're  looking  for  something  else. 

Madame  Chanteuil.  Look  for  something  else! 
Never!  That  means  all  the  horrors  I  went  through, 
before  I  came  here,  over  again!  No!  no!  no!  Never! 
Looking  for  work  means  trailing  through  the  mud,  toil- 
ing up  stairs,  ringing  bells,  being  told  to  call  again, 
calling  again  to  get  more  snubs.  And  then  when  one 
thinks  one  's  found  something  one  comes  up  against  a 
door  guarded  by  a  man  who  's  watching  you,  and  who  's 
got  to  be  satisfied  before  you  can  get  into  the  workroom, 
or  the  office,  or  the  shop,  or  whatever  it  may  be.  And 
then  you  've  got  to  begin  again  with  somebody  else  and 
be  snubbed  again.  No.  Since  it 's  an  accepted,  settled, 
decided  thing  that  the  only  career  for  a  woman  is  to 
satisfy  the  passions  of  a  man,  I  prefer  the  one  I  've 
chosen  myself. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  And  what  if  he  goes 
off  and  leaves  you  with  a  baby? 

Madame  Chanteuil.  Well,  I  '11  bring  it  up.  I 
shan't  be  the  first.  Women  do  it.  It  happens  to  one  in 
every  five  in  Paris.  Ask  Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot,  the 
old  maid,  if  she  would  n't  be  glad  to  have  one  now  ? 
When  one  grows  old  it 's  better  to  have  had  a  child  in 
that  way  than  not  to  have  had  one  at  all.     Ask  her  if 


Act  II        Woman  on  Her  Own  75 

I  'm  not  telling  the  truth.  Ask  her  if  she  's  happy  in 
her  loneliness. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot.  Oh,  it 's  true  —  it 's 
true !     Sometimes  — 

She  bursts  into  tears.  Therese  goes  to  her  and  takes 
her  in  her  arms. 

Therese.     Oh,  Mademoiselle,  dear  Mademoiselle ! 

Madame  Chanteuil  [between  her  teeth]  Good-bye, 
Mademoiselle.     Good-bye,  Therese. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot  [to  Madame  Chanteuil] 
Wait,  wait.  I  'm  going  with  you.  I  am  not  going  to 
leave  you  just  now. 

Mademoiselle  de  Meuriot  goes  out  with  Madame 
Chanteuil.  Therese,  left  alone,  buries  her  head  in  her 
hands  and  thinks.  Then  she  takes  the  two  books  that 
Madame  Nerisse  has  handed  her,  and  with  a  determined 
swing  sits  down  and  starts  working.  After  a  moment 
Monsieur  Nerisse  comes  in. 

Nerisse.  My  dear  child,  I  have  news  for  you. 
Pleasant  news,  I  think. 

Therese  [rather  grimly]      Have  you? 

Nerisse.  One  little  smile,  please,  or  I  shall  tell  you 
nothing. 

Therese.  I  assure  you  smiling  is  the  last  thing  I 
feel  like. 

Nerisse.  If  you  only  knew  what  I  've  been  doing 
for  you,  you  would  n't  receive  me  so  unkindly. 

Therese.  You  can  do  nothing  for  me.  Will  you 
please  leave  me  alone  .^ 

Nerisse.  I  don't  deserve  to  be  spoken  to  like  that, 
Therese.  Listen;  we  must  come  to  an  understanding. 
I  know  you  're  angry  with  me  still  about  what  happened 
last  month.  I  promised  you  then  I  would  say  no  more. 
Have  I  kept  my  word? 

Therese.     Yes,  you  have. 

Nerisse.     Will   you   always   be   angry?     Is   it  quite 


76  Woman  on  Her  Own        Act  II 

impossible  for  us  to  be  friends?  I  am  constantly  giv- 
ing you  proofs  of  my  friendship.  I  've  done  two  things 
for  you  quite  lately.  The  first  was  that  letter  to  the 
editor  you  're  going  to  see  to-morrow,  and  the  second 
is  what  I  've  done  now  with  our  new  backer.  It 's 
this.  They  wanted  to  sack  you  or  to  offer  you  humili- 
ating conditions.  I  said  if  you  didn't  stay  I  wouldn't 
stay  either.  I  gave  in  on  other  points  to  get  my  way 
about  this.  I  shall  have  their  final  answer  to-morrow, 
and  I  know  I  shall  succeed  if  I  stick  to  my  point. 

Therese.  But  what  right  had  you  to  do  such  a 
thing?  We  agreed  to  forget  altogether  that  you  had 
dared  to  make  love  to  me.  D'  you  really  not  under- 
stand how  that  makes  it  impossible  I  should  ever  ac- 
cept either  assistance  or  protection  from  you? 

Nerisse.     I  have  still  the  right  to  love  you  in  secret. 

Therese.  Indeed  you  have  not,  and  you  've  kept 
your  secret  precious  badly.  Madame  Nerisse  suspects, 
and  I  can  see  quite  well  that  she's  jealous  of  me.  I 
owe  her  a  great  deal;  she  gave  me  my  first  start  and 
got  me  my  place  here.  I  would  n't  make  her  unhappy 
for  anything  in  the  world.  As  soon  as  she  hears  of 
what  you  've  done  what  d'  you  suppose  she  '11  think  ? 

Nerisse.     I  don't  care  a  rap  what  she  thinks. 

Therese.  But  I  care  very  much.  You  've  com- 
promised me  seriously. 

Nerisse  Insincerely  contemptuous']  Compromised 
you !  Aha,  yes,  there 's  the  word !  Oh,  you  middle 
class  girls  !  Always  the  same !  What  are  you  doing  here 
then?  What  d' you  know  about  life ?  Nothing.  Com- 
promised! Then  all  your  dreams  of  elevating  human- 
ity, all  your  ambitions,  your  career,  the  realization  of 
yourself  —  you  '11  give  up  all  that  before  you  '11  be 
what  you  describe  by  that  stupid,  imbecile,  middle  class 
word,  compromised.  When  you  shook  yourself  free  of 
your  family  you  behaved  like  a  capable  woman.     Now 


Act  II        Woman  on  Her  Own  77 

you  're  behaving  and  thinking  like  a  fashionable  doll. 
Is  n't  that  true  ?  I  appeal  to  your  intelligence,  to  your 
mind,  to  everything  in  you  that  lifts  you  out  of  the 
ordinary  ruck.  Your  precious  word  compromised  is 
only  the  twaddle  of  a  countrified  miss.  Don't  you  see 
that  yourself.^ 

Therese  livery  much  out  of  countenance^  Ah,  if  I 
were  only  certain  that  you  are  hiding  nothing  behind 
your  friendship  and  your  sympathy! 

Nerisse  [with  perfectly  genuine  indignation^  Hid- 
ing.'' You  said  hiding.''  Is  that  what  you  throw  in  my 
face .''     You  insult  me  ?     What  d'  you  take  me  for .'' 

Therese.     I  beg  your  pardon. 

Nerisse.  What  kind  of  assurance  do  you  want  me 
to  give  you?  Do  you  believe  in  nothing?  Is  it  quite 
impossible  for  you  to  feel  frankly  and  naturally,  and 
to  say  "  I  have  confidence  in  you,  and  I  accept  your 
friendship  " —  a  friendship  offered  to  you  perfectly  hon- 
estly and  loyally?     It  really  drives  one  to  despair. 

Therese  [without  enthusiasm]     Well,  yes.     I  say  it. 

She  puts  her  hands  into  the  hands  Monsieur  Nerisse 
holds  out  to  her. 

Nerisse.  Thank  you.  [A  silence.  Then  he  says  in 
a  low  voice]     Oh,  Therese,  I  love  you,  how  I  love  you ! 

Therese  [snatching  her  hands  away]  Oh,  this  is 
abominable.  You  set  a  trap  for  me,  and  my  vanity 
made  me  fall  into  it. 

Nerisse.  I  implore  you  to  let  me  tell  you  about  my- 
self.     I  'm  so  miserable  and  lonely  when  you  're  away. 

Therese  [trying  to  speak  reasonably]  I  know  quite 
well  what  you  want  to  say  to  me,  and  it  all  amounts  to 
this :  you  love  me.  It 's  quite  clear,  and  I  answer  you 
just  as  clearly:  I  do  not  love  you. 

Nerisse.     I  'm  so  unhappy  ! 

Therese.  If  it 's  true  that  you  're  unhappy  because 
I  don't  love  you,  that  is  a  misfortune  for  you;    a  mis- 


78  Woman  on  Her  Own        Act  II 

fortune  for  which  I  am  not  in  any  way  responsible,  be- 
cause you  certainly  cannot  accuse  me  of  having  en- 
couraged you. 

Nerisse.  I  don't  ask  you  to  love  me  —  yet.  I  ask 
you  to  allow  me  to  try  and  win  your  love. 

Therese  [almost  desperate]  Don't  dare  to  say  that 
again.  If  you  were  an  honorable  man,  you  could  n't 
possibly  have  said  these  things  to  me  to-day  when  my 
living  depends  upon  you.  You  know  the  position  I  'm 
in,  and  you  know  that  if  I  don't  stay  here,  there  are 
only  two  courses  open  to  me  —  to  go  and  live  at  the 
expense  of  my  godmother,  which  I  will  not  do,  or  to  take 
the  chances  of  a  woman  alone  looking  for  work  in  Paris. 
Don't  you  understand  that  speaking  about  your  love  for 
me  to-day  is  the  same  as  driving  me  into  the  street? 

Nerisse.  If  you  go  into  the  street,  it  is  by  your  own 
choice. 

Therese.  Exactly.  There 's  the  old,  everlasting, 
scandalous  bargain.  Sell  yourself  or  you  shall  starve. 
If  I  give  in,  I  can  stay;  if  I  don't  — 

Nerisse.  /  did  n't  say  so.  But  clearly  my  efforts 
to  help  you  will  be  greater  if  I  know  that  I  'm  working 
for  my  friend. 

Therese.  You  actually  confess  it!  You  think  your- 
self an  honorable  man,  and  you  don't  see  that  what 
you  're  doing  is  the  vilest  of  crimes. 

Nerisse.  Now  I  ask  you.  Did  I  wait  for  your  an- 
swer before  I  began  to  defend  you  and  to  help  you.'' 

Therese.  No,  but  you  believe  I  shall  give  in  through 
gratitude  or  fear.  Well,  don't  count  upon  it.  Even  if 
I  have  to  kill  myself  in  the  end,  I  shall  never  sell  my- 
self, either  to  you  or  to  anyone  else.  [In  despair] 
Then  that 's  what  it  comes  to.  Wherever  we  want  to 
make  our  way,  to  have  the  right  to  work  and  to  live, 
we  find  the  door  barred  by  a  man  who  says.  Give  your- 
self or  starve.     Because  one  's  on  one  's  own,  because 


Act  II        Woman  on  Her  Own  79 

they  know  that  there  's  not  another  man  to  start  up  and 
defend  his  property!  It's  almost  impossible  to  believe 
human  beings  can  be  so  vile  to  one  another.  For  food ! 
Just  for  food!  Because  they  know  we  shall  starve  if 
we  don't  give  in.  Because  we  have  old  people,  or 
children  at  home  who  are  waiting  for  us  to  bring  them 
food,  men  put  this  vile  condition  to  us,  to  do  like  the  girls 
in  the  streets.  It 's  shameful,  shameful,  shameful.  It 's 
enough  to  make  one  shriek  out  loud  with  rage  and  despair, 

Nerisse  [speaking  sternly]  I  've  never  asked  you  to 
sell  yourself.      I  ask  you  to  love  me. 

Therese.      I  shall  never  love  you. 

Nerisse  [as  before]  You  '11  never  love.  Neither  me 
nor  others.     Listen  — 

Therese  [interrupting]      I  — 

Nerisse  [preventing  her  from  speaking]  Wait;  I 
insist  upon  speaking.  You  will  never  love,  you  say. 
You  will  live  alone  all  your  life.  You  're  foolish  and 
self-confident  enough  to  think  that  you  can  do  without 
a  man's  affection. 

Therese,     But  I  — 

Nerisse  [continuing]  I  must  try  to  make  you  under- 
stand your  folly.  These  efforts  you  're  making  to  es- 
cape from  the  ordinary  life  of  affection  are  useless,  and 
it 's  lucky  for  you  they  are  useless.  You  can't  live 
without  love. 

Therese,     Why  ? 

Nerisse.  All  lonely  people  are  wretched.  But  the 
lonely  woman  is  twice,  a  hundred  times  more  wretched 
than  the  man.  You  've  no  idea  what  it  is.  It 's  to  pass 
all  your  life  under  suspicion,  yes,  suspicion.  The  world 
never  believes  that  people  live  differently  from  others 
unless  they  have  secret  reasons,  and  the  world  always 
says  that  secret  reasons  are  shameful  reasons.  And 
that 's  not  all.  Think  of  the  lonely  room  where  you 
may  cry  without  anyone  to  hear  you.     Think  of  illness 


80  Woman  on  Her  Own        Act  II 

where  to  your  bodily  pain  is  added  the  mental  torture 
of  the  fear  of  dying  all  alone.  Think  of  the  empty 
heart,  the  empty  arms  always,  always.  And  in  old  age, 
more  wretchedness  in  the  regret  for  a  wasted  life.  And 
for  what  and  for  whom  are  you  making  this  sacrifice? 
For  a  convention ;  for  a  morality  that  nobody  really  be- 
lieves in.  Who'll  think  the  better  of  you  for  it.'' 
People  won't  even  believe  in  your  honesty.  They  will 
find  explanations  for  it  that  would  make  you  die  of  shame 
if  you  knew  them.  Is  that  what  you  want,  Therese? 
I  am  unhappy.     Love  me.     Oh,  if  you  only  — 

Therese.     Please  spare  me  your  confidences. 

Nerisse.  You  think  this  is  only  a  caprice  on  my 
part.     You  are  mistaken.     I  ask  you  to  share  my  life. 

Therese.     I  will  never  be  your  mistress. 

Nerisse.  You  're  proud  and  you  're  strong.  You  in- 
sist upon  marriage.     Very  well.     I  agree. 

Therese.     I  will  not  have  you  !     I  will  not  have  you ! 

Nerisse.     Why?     Tell  me  why. 

Therese.  I  will  tell  you  why;  and  then,  I  hope,  I 
shall  have  done  with  you.  You  're  right  in  one  way. 
I  believe  I  should  not  be  able  to  live  all  alone.  I 
should  be  too  unhappy.  But  at  least  I  '11  keep  my  right 
of  choice.  If  ever  I  give  myself  to  anyone,  it  will  be 
to  someone  I  love.  [With  vehemence]  And  I  love 
him,  I  love  him ! 

Nerisse  [violently]  You  have  a  lover!  If  that's 
true  — 

Therese  [with  a  cry  of  triumph]  Oh,  have  I  got  to 
the  bottom  of  your  vulgar,  hateful  little  soul?  If  there 
ever  was  any  danger  of  my  giving  in,  your  expression 
then  would  have  saved  me.  You  never  thought  there 
could  be  anything  better.  A  lover!  No,  I  have  no 
lover.     I  have  a  love. 

Nerisse.     I  don't  see  so  very  much  difference. 

Therese    [proudly]      I    know    you    don't,    and   that 


Act  II        Woman  on  Her  Own  81 

shows  what  you  are.  This  is  the  one  love  of  my  life, 
my  love  for  my  betrothed.  I  lost  my  money  and  that 
separated  us,  but  we  found  each  other  again.  It 's  un- 
happy to  be  separated,  but  we  bear  our  unhappiness  out 
of  respect  for  what  you  call  prejudices,  because  we 
know  how  our  defying  them  would  hurt  those  we  love. 
You  think  me  ridiculous,  but  you  cannot  imagine  how 
utterly  indiilerent  I  am.  I  am  waiting,  we  are  waiting, 
with  perfect  trust  and  love.  Now  d'  you  understand 
that  I  'm  perfectly  safe  from  you  ?     Go ! 

Nerisse  [in  a  low  voice  which  trembles  with  anger 
and  jealousy]  How  dare  you  say  that  to  me,  Therese.'' 
How  dare  you  bring  such  a  picture  before  me.^  I  will 
not  allow  you  to  belong  to  another  man.  [He  advances 
towards  her] 

Therese  [in  violent  excitement]  No,  no,  don't  dare! 
Don't  touch  me !  don't  dare  to  touch  me ! 

She  cries  out  those  words  zvith  such  violence  and  in  a 
voice  of  such  authority  that  Nerisse  stops  and  drops 
into  a  chair. 

Nerisse.  Forgive  me.  I  'm  out  of  my  mind.  I 
don't  know  what  I  'm  doing. 

Therese  [in  a  low,  forced  voice]  Will  you  go.'' 
I  've  work  to  do. 

Nerisse.  Yes,  I  '11  go.  [He  rises  and  says  humbly] 
I  want  to  ask  you  —  you  won't  leave  us  ? 

Therese.  You  dare  to  say  that.''  You  think  I  '11  ex- 
pose myself  a  second  time  to  a  scene  like  this.  Yes ! 
I  shall  leave,  and  leave  to-night !     Will  you  go  ? 

Nerisse.  I  implore  you.  [Hearing  a  noise  outside, 
suddenly  alarmed]  Here  she  is !  Control  yourself,  I 
beg  of  you.     Don't  tell  her. 

Therese.     You  need  n't  be  afraid. 

Madame  Nerisse  comes  in. 

Madame  Nerisse  [looking  from  one  to  the  other] 
What 's  going  on  here .'' 


82  Woman  on  Her  Own        Act  II 

Nerisse.  Mademoiselle  Therese  says  that  she  's  go- 
ing to  leave  us,  and  I  tried  to  make  her  understand  — 
perhaps  you  could  do  something  —  I  must  go  out. 

Madame  Nerisse.     Yes.     Go. 

He  takes  his  hat  and  goes  out  at  the  back. 

Madame  Nerisse.     You  wish  to  leave  us  ? 

Therese.     Yes,  Madame. 

Madame   Nerisse.     Because  Monsieur  Nerisse — .'^ 

Therese.     Yes,  Madame. 

Madame  Nerisse  \^troubled  and  sad^  What  can  I  say 
to  you.'' 

Therese.     Nothing,  Madame. 

Madame  Nerisse.     My  poor  child. 

Therese.  I  don't  want  pity.  Don't  be  unhappy 
about  me.  I  shall  be  able  to  manage  for  myself.  I 
have  plenty  of  courage. 

Madame  Nerisse.  I  'm  so  ashamed  to  let  you  go  like 
this.  How  honest  and  loyal  you  are!  [To  herself] 
I  was  honest  too,  once. 

Therese.  Good-bye,  Madame.  [She  begins  to  tidy 
her  papers] 

Madame  Nerisse.     Good-bye,  Therese. 
Madame  Nerisse  goes  out. 

When  Therese  is  left  alone  she  breaks  down  and  bursts 
out  crying  like  a  little  child.  Then  she  wipes  her  eyes, 
puts  her  hat  on,  goes  to  the  cardboard  boa:,  and  takes  out 
her  veil,  which  she  slips  into  her  little  bag.  She  takes 
out  Monsieur  Nerisse's  letter;  still  crying  she  puts  the 
letter  into  another  envelope,  which  she  closes  and  leaves 
well  in  sight  upon  the  table.  Then  she  takes  her  little 
black  moleskin  bag  and  her  umbrella  and  goes  out 
slowly.  She  is  worn  out,  almost  stooping;  and,  as  the 
curtain  falls,  one  sees  the  poor  little  figure  departing,  its 
shoulders  shaken  by  sobs. 


ACT    III 

Scene:  —  Therese's  studio  at  the  bookbinding  work- 
shops of  Messrs.  Feliat  and  Gueret  at  Evreux.  Strewn 
about  are  materials  for  binding  books:  patterns,  tools, 
and  silks.  A  glased  door  on  the  right  opens  into  the 
general  women's  workshops,  and  there  is  a  door  leading 
into  a  small  office  on  the  left.  In  the  middle,  towards 
the  back,  is  a  large  drawing  table;  several  easels  stand 
about.  There  are  some  chairs  and  a  small  bureau. 
Cards  hang  upon  the  walls,  on  which  are  printed  the 
text  of  the  Factory  Laws.      There  is  a  door  at  the  back. 

It  is  October. 

Monsieur  Gueret  and  Monsieur  Feliat  come  in 
excitedly. 

Gueret.  I  tell  you  Duriot's  men  are  coming  out  on 
strike. 

Feliat.    And  I  ask  you,  what 's  that  to  me  } 

Gueret.     Ours  will  do  the  same. 

Feliat.     Oh  no,  they  won't. 

Gueret.     You  '11  see. 

Feliat.  Duriot's  men  are  furious  with  the  women 
because  of  what  happened  last  year. 

Gueret.     They  say  woman  's  the  enemy  in  business. 

Feliat.     Let  'em  talk. 

Gueret.     They  want  Duriot  to  sack  all  his  women. 

Feliat.  And  I  've  told  you  why.  There  's  no  danger 
of  anything  like  that  happening  here. 

Gueret.     You  think  so,  do  you.''     Well,  you  '11  see. 

Feliat.     We  shall  see. 

83 


84  Woman  on  Her  Own      Act  III 

GuERET.  You  '11  give  in  only  after  they  've  broken 
two  or  three  of  your  machines  as  they  did  Duriot's,  or 
done  something  worse,  perhaps. 

Feliat.  My  dear  Gueret,  I  get  out  of  the  women 
for  a  cent  what  I  have  to  pay  the  men  three  cents 
for.  And  as  long  as  I  can  economize  ten  cents  on  the 
piece  I  shall  go  on. 

GuERET.  You  '11  regret  it.  If  I  was  in  your  place  — 
[He  stops] 

Feliat.  Well,  what  would  you  do  if  you  were  in 
my  place? 

GuERET.     What  should  I  do? 

Feliat.     Yes,  what? 

GuERET.  I  should  n't  take  long  to  think.  I  'd  cut 
off  a  finger  to  save  my  hand.  I  'd  turn  out  every  one 
of  the  women  to-morrow. 

Feliat.  You  're  mad.  You  've  always  objected  to 
my  employing  women,  and  I  know  very  well  why. 

Gueret.     Well,  let 's  hear  why. 

Feliat.  You  want  to  know.  Well,  because  you  've 
been  jealous  of  Therese  ever  since  she  came  here  six 
months  ago. 

Gueret.     Oh,  I  say ! 

Feliat.     That 's  it ;  my  sister  can't  endure  her. 

Gueret.     Marguerite  — 

Feliat.  You  know  she  would  n't  even  see  her  when 
she  same  down  from  Paris;  and  if  Therese  got  work 
here,  it  was  in  spite  of  Marguerite.  I  was  wiser  than 
you  about  this.  The  girl's  courage  appealed  to  me. 
She 's  plucky  and  intelligent.  Oh,  I  don't  want  to 
make  myself  out  cleverer  than  I  am.  I  took  her  a  bit 
out  of  pity,  and  I  thought  she  'd  draw  me  a  few  designs  ; 
that  was  all  I  expected.  But  she  has  energy  and  ini- 
tiative. She  organized  the  two  workrooms,  and  now 
she  's  got  the  whole  thing  into  order  by  starting  this 
Union. 


Act  III      Woman  on  Her  Own  85 

GuERET.     The  Hen's  Union. 

Feliat.     What? 

GuERET.  That 's  what  the  men  call  her  Union, 
You  should  hear  the  things  they  say  about  it. 

Feliat.  Well,  long  live  the  Hen's  Union !  A  hen  's 
plucky  when  it  has  to  be. 

Gueret.  Seriously,  it 's  just  this  Union  which  has 
annoyed  the  men.     They  feel  it 's  dangerous. 

Feliat.     Very  well.     I  '11  be  ready  for  them. 
Therese  comes  in. 

Gueret.     I  '11  go  and  find  out  what 's  going  on. 

Feliat.     Yes,  do. 

Monsieur  Gueret  goes  out. 

Therese.  I  've  just  been  seeing  the  man  who  makes 
our  finishing  tools.  He  says  it 's  perfectly  easy  to  make 
a  tool  from  the  drawing  I  did  that  won't  be  more  ex- 
pensive than  the  old  one.  [^Looking  for  a  paper  and 
finding  it  on  the  table]  Here  's  the  drawing.  You  see 
I  've  thought  of  cheapness,  but  I  've  not  sacrificed  util- 
ity. After  all,  it's  only  a  copy  of  a  Grolier,  just  a 
little  altered. 

Feliat.  Very  good,  but  what  will  the  price  come 
out  at  ? 

Therese.     How  much  do  you  think. 

Feliat.  I  can  easily  do  it.  [He  calculates  during 
what  follows] 

Therese.  The  beating  won't  be  done  with  a  ham- 
mer, but  in  the  rolling  machine;  the  sawing-in  and  the 
covering  will  be  done  as  usual. 

Feliat  [having  finished  his  sum]     Two  francs  forty. 

Therese  [triumphantly]  One  franc  seventy. 
You  've  calculated  on  the  basis  of  men's  work.  But,  if 
you  approve,  I  '11  open  a  new  workroom  for  women  in 
the  old  shop.  Lucienne  can  manage  it.  I  could  let 
Madame  Princeteau  take  Lucienne's  present  place,  and 
I  '11  turn  out  the  stuff  at  the  price  I  quoted. 


86  Woman  on  Her  Own      Act  III 

Feliat.  But  that 's  first-rate.  I  give  you  an  abso- 
lutely free  hand. 

Theresk.     Thank  you,  Monsieur  Feliat. 

Feliat,  How  do  you  think  the  men  will  take  it.^" 
You  know  that  last  year,  before  you  came  here,  a  strike 
of  the  workmen  was  broken  by  the  women  taking  the 
work  the  men  were  asking  a  rise  for  —  taking  it  at  lower 
wages,  too.  Since  then  the  men  feel  very  strongly 
against  the  women.    Your  godfather  is  anxious  about  it. 

Therese.     Oh,  leave  it  to  me,  I  'm  not  afraid. 

Feliat.  Well  done.  I  like  pluck.  Go  ahead.  How 
lucky  I  was  to  get  you  here. 

Therese.  How  grateful  I  am  to  you  for  believing 
in  me.  [Lucienne  appears  at  the  door  on  the  right. 
She  is  speaking  to  a  workwoman  who  is  not  visible, 
while  the  following  conversation  goes  on'\  And  how 
good  you  qre,  too,  to  have  given  work  to  poor  Lucienne. 
When  I  think  what  you  saved  her  from !  She  really 
owes  her  life  to  you.  At  any  rate  she  owes  it  to  you 
that  she  's  living  respectably. 

Feliat.  Well,  I  owe  you  ten  per  cent  reduction  on 
my  general  expenses.  [With  a  change  of  tone]  Then 
that 's  agreed .''     You  're  going  ahead  } 

Therese.     Yes,  Monsieur. 

Feliat.  I  '11  go  and  give  the  necessary  orders. 
\^He  goes  out] 

Therese.  It 's  all  right.  It 's  done.  He  's  agreed  ! 
I  'm  to  have  my  new  workroom,  and  you  're  to  be  the 
head  of  it. 

Lucienne.  Oh,  splendid!  Then  I  'm  really  of  some 
importance  here  at  last.  [A  long  happy  sigh]  Oh 
dear,  how  happy  I  am.  I  'd  never  have  believed  I 
could  have  enjoyed  the  smell  of  a  bindery  so.  [Sniff- 
ing] Glue,  and  white  of  egg,  and  old  leather;  it's 
lovely!  Oh,  Therese,  what  you  did  for  me  in  bringing 
me  here !     What  I  owe  you !     That 's  what  a  woman's 


Act  III       Woman  on  Her  Own  87 

being  free  means;  it  means  a  woman  who  earns  her 
own  living. 

Therese.  Oh,  you  're  right !  Is  n't  it  splendid, 
Lucienne,  ten  wretched  women  saved,  thanks  to  our  new 
workshop.  I  've  seen  Duriot's  forewoman.  At  any  mo- 
ment fifty  women  from  there  may  be  out  of  work.  I  can 
take  on  only  ten  at  present,  and  I  've  had  to  choose. 
That  was  dreadful !  Thirty  of  them  are  near  starva- 
tion. I  took  the  worst  cases:  the  old  maids,  the  girls 
with  babies,  the  ones  whose  husbands  have  gone  off  and 
left  them,  the  widows.  Every  one  of  those,  but  for  me, 
would  have  been  starved  or  gone  on  the  streets.  I  used 
to  want  to  write  books  and  realize  my  dreams  that  way. 
Now  I  can  realize  them  by  work.  I  wish  Caroline  Le- 
grand  could  know  what  I  'm  doing.  It  was  she  who 
helped  me  to  get  over  my  silly  pride,  and  come  and 
ask  for  work  here. 

Lucienne.  Dear  Caroline  Legrand  !  Without  her ! 
Without  you!  [With  a  change  of  tone]  What  d' you 
suppose  happened  to  me  this  morning?  I  had  a  visit 
from  Monsieur  Gambard. 

Therese  [laughing]  Another  visit!  I  shall  be 
jealous ! 

Lucienne.  You  've  reason.  For  the  last  week  that 
excellent  old  man  has  come  every  single  morning  with 
a  book  for  me  to  bind.  I  begged  him  not  to  take  so 
much  trouble,  and  I  told  him  that  if  he  had  more  work 
for  us  to  do,  we  could  send  for  the  books  to  his  house. 
What  d'  you  think  he  did  to-day  ? 

Therese.     I  've  no  idea. 

Lucienne.     He  asked  me  to  marry  him. 

Therese.     My  dear!     What  then? 

Lucienne.  Why,  then  I  told  him  that  I  was  married 
and  separated  from  my  husband. 

Therese.     There  's  such  a  thing  as  divorce. 

Lucienne.     Naughty  girl !     That 's  exactly  what  he 


88  Woman  on  Her  Own      Act  III 

said.  I  told  him  that  my  first  experience  of  marriage 
was  not  calculated  to  make  me  run  the  chances  of  a 
second.     And  then  he  asked  me  to  be  his  mistress. 

Therese.     Indignation  of  Lucienne ! 

LuciENNE.  No !  I  really  could  n't  be  angry.  He 
offered  so  naively  to  settle  part  of  his  fortune  upon  me 
that  I  was  disarmed.  I  simply  told  him  I  was  able  to 
earn  my  own  living,  so  I  was  not  obliged  to  sell  myself. 

Therese.     And  he  went  off? 

Lucienne.    And  he  went  off. 

Therese  [starting  suddenly]  Was  that  three  o'clock 
that  struck. 

Lucienne.  Yes,  but  there  's  nothing  very  extraordi- 
nary in  that. 

Therese.  Not  for  you,  perhaps.  But  I  made  up 
my  mind  not  to  think  about  a  certain  thing  until  it  was 
three  o'clock.  I  stuck  to  it  —  almost  —  not  very 
easily.  Well,  my  dear,  three  o'clock  to-day  is  a  most 
solemn  hour  in  my  life. 

Lucienne.     You  don't  say  so ! 

Therese.  I  do.  Lucienne,  I  am  so  happy.  I  don't 
know  how  I  can  have  deserved  to  be  as  happy  as  I  am. 

Lucienne.  Good  gracious,  what 's  happened  in  the 
last  five  minutes  ? 

Therese.  I  '11  tell  you.  One  hour  ago  Rene  arrived 
at  Evreux.  He  's  come  back  from  Tunis.  Come  back 
a  success  and  a  somebody.    And  now  — 

Vincent,  a  workman,  comes  in. 

Vincent.  Good-morning,  Mademoiselle  Therese.  I 
want  a  word  with  you,  because  it 's  you  who  engages  — 

Therese.     Not  the  workmen. 

Vincent,  I  know.  But  it 's  about  a  woman,  about 
my  wife. 

Therese  [sharply]  Your  wiie}  But  I  don't  want 
your  wife. 

Vincent.     I  heard  as  how  you  were  taking  on  hands. 


Act  III      Woman  on  Her  Own  89 

Therese.  Yes,  but  I  choose  them  carefully.  First 
of  all  I  take  the  ones  who  need  work  or  are  not  wanted 
at  home. 

Vincent.  You  're  quite  right  —  but  I  ain't  asking 
you  to  pay  my  old  woman  very  much  —  not  as  much  as 
a  man. 

Therese.     Why  not,  if  she  does  the  same  work? 

Vincent  [with  male  superiority]  Well,  in  the  first 
place,  she's  only  a  woman;  and,  besides,  if  you  didn't 
make  a  bit  out  of  it,  you  would  n't  take  her  in  the  place 
of  a  man. 

Therese.  But  you  get  excellent  wages  here  yourself. 
You  can  live  without  forcing  your  wife  to  work. 

Vincent.  Well,  anyhow,  her  few  halfpence  would 
be  enough  to  pay  for  my  tobacco. 

Lucienne  [laughing]  Come,  you  don't  smoke  as 
much  as  all  that. 

Vincent.  Besides,  it  '11  put  a  bit  more  butter  on 
the  bread. 

Therese.  But  your  wife  will  take  the  place  of  an- 
other woman  who  has  n't  even  dry  bread  perhaps. 

Vincent.  Oh,  if  one  was  bothering  all  the  time  about 
other  people's  troubles,  you  'd  have  enough  to  do ! 

Therese.  Now  will  you  forgive  me  if  I  meddle  a 
little  in  what  is  n't  exactly  my  business  ? 

Vincent.     Oh,  go  on,  you  won't  upset  me. 

Therese.  What  d'  you  do  when  you  leave  the  works? 
You  go  to  the  saloon  ? 

Vincent  [losing  control  of  himself  and  becoming 
violent  and  coarse]  Tliat 's  yer  game,  is  it!  You  take 
me  for  a  regler  soaker.  That 's  a  bit  too  thick,  that  is. 
You  can  go  and  ask  for  yourself  in  all  the  saloons  round 
here.  Blimey,  sometimes  I  don't  drink  notliing  but 
water  for  a  week  on  end!  Can  you  find  anybody  as 
has  ever  seen  me  blue-blind-paralytic  —  eh  ?  I  'm  one 
of  the  steady  ones,  I  am.      I  has  a  tiddley  in  the  morn- 


90  Woman  on  Her  Own      Act  III 

ing,  like  every  man  as  is  a  man,  to  keep  out  the  fog; 
then  I  has  a  Vermouth  before  lunch,  and  a  drop  of 
somethmg  short  after,  just  to  oil  the  works  like  —  and 
that 's  the  bloomin'  lot.  Of  course  you  're  bound  to 
have  a  Pernod  before  dinner  to  get  your  appetite  up; 
and  if  I  go  for  a  smoke  and  a  wet  after  supper,  well, 
it 's  for  the  sake  of  a  bit  of  company. 

Therese  [who  has  been  jotting  down  figures  with  a 
pencil  while  he  has  been  talking]  Well,  that 's  a  franc 
a  day  you  might  have  saved. 

Vincent.     A  franc. 

Therese  [holding  out  the  paper  to  /im]      Add  it  up. 

Vincent  [a  little  confused]  Oh,  I  '11  take  your  word 
for  it.     I  ain't  much  good  at  sums. 

Therese.  With  that  franc  you  might  have  put  a 
fine  lot  of  butter  on  every  round  of  bread. 

Vincent.     Well,  look  here,  I  want  a  bicycle. 

Therese.  Why.''  You  live  five  minutes'  walk  from 
here. 

Vincent.  Yes,  but  I  want  to  get  about  a  bit  on 
Sundays. 

Therese.  There  's  one  thing  you  have  n't  thought  of. 
You  have  two  little  children.  Who  '11  look  after  them 
if  your  wife  comes  to  work  here? 

Vincent.  Don't  you  worry  about  that.  You  takes 
*em  all  dirty  to  the  creche  every  morning  and  gets  'em 
back  in  the  evenin'  all  tidied  up. 

Therese.     And  who's  going  to  get  supper  ready? 

Vincent  [naively]  Why,  the  old  woman  when  she 
comes  back  from  work. 

Therese.     While  you  take  your  little  drink? 

Vincent  [in  the  same  tone]  Oh,  yes;  I  shan't  hurry 
her  up  too  much. 

Therese.     Who'll  mend  your  clothes? 

Vincent.     Why,  the  old  woman  of  course. 

Therese.     When? 


Act  III      Woman  on  Her  Own  91 

Vincent.     On  Sundays. 

Therese.     While  you  go  off  for  a  run  on  the  bicycle.^ 

Vincent.  Yes;  it'll  be  a  change  for  her.  And  at 
night  I  '11  take  her  to  see  me  play  billiards.  \^With  a 
change  of  tone'\      That  's  all  settled,  ain't  it? 

Therese.     Indeed,  it 's  not. 

Vincent.  Why  not.''  Aren't  you  going  to  open  a 
new  workroom? 

Therese.     Your  wife  has  no  need  to  work. 

Vincent.  What 's  that  got  to  do  with  you?  You  're 
taking  on  the  others. 

Therese.     The  others  are  in  want. 

Vincent.  That 's  nothing  to  me.  You  ought  to  take 
the  wives  of  the  chaps  as  works  here  first. 

Therese.  All  I  can  do  is  to  mention  her  name  at 
the  next  meeting  of  our  Union. 

Vincent.  Oh,  damn  your  Union  —  it 's  a  fair 
nuisance ! 

Therese.  A  Union  is  always  a  nuisance  to  some- 
body. 

Vincent.  And  you  '11  ask  your  Union  not  to  take 
my  old  woman  ? 

Therese.      I  certainly  shall. 

Vincent  [rather  threateningly]  Very  well.  Things 
was  more  comfortable  here  before  you  come  from  Paris, 
you  know. 

Therese  [quietly]      I  'm  sorry. 

Vincent.  And  they  '11  be  more  comfortable  when 
you  take  your  hook  back. 

Therese.     That  won't  be  for  a  good  while  yet. 

Vincent.  I  ain't  so  damned  sure  about  that !  Good- 
afternoon. 

Therese.    Good-afternoon. 

He  goes  out. 

Lucienne.    You  've  made  an  enemy,  my  ciear. 

Therese.      I    don't    care    as    long    as    I  'm    able    to 


92  Woman  on  Her  Own      Act  III 

prevent  women  being  driven  to  work  to  pay  for  their 
husbands'  idleness  and  drunkenness. 

Feliat  and  Gueret  come  in.    Lucienne  goes  out. 

Feliat.  Tell  me;,  Mademoiselle,  if  there  was  a  strike 
here,  could  you  count  upon  your  workwomen? 

Therese.     I  'm  sure  I  could. 

Feliat.  Are  you  certain  none  of  them  would  go 
back  on  you? 

Therese.  Two  or  three  married  women  might  if 
their  husbands  threatened  them. 

Feliat.  Will  you  try,  in  a  quiet  way,  to  find  out 
about  that? 

Therese.  Yes,  certainly.  [She  makes  a  movement 
to  go  OMt] 

Feliat.  Look  here,  it  seems  that  Duriot  has  just 
had  a  visit  from  two  delegates  from  the  Central  Com- 
mittee in  Paris,  who  were  sent  down  to  protest  against 
the  engagement  of  women.  I  'm  afraid  we  're  going 
to  have  trouble  here. 

Therese.  The  conditions  here  are  very  different 
from  those  at  Duriot's. 

Feliat.     All  the  same,  find  out  what  you  can. 

Therese.  I  will,  at  once.  [She  goes  towards  the 
door'\ 

Feliat.  Whatever  happens  we  must  send  off  tiiat 
Brazilian  order.     How  is  it  getting  on? 

Therese.  We  shall  have  everything  ready  in  three 
days.  I  '11  go  and  inquire  about  the  other  thing. 
[She  goes  ouf] 

Feliat.     Good. 

Gueret.  Three  days  is  n't  the  end  of  the  world.  I 
think  I  can  promise  you  to  keep  my  men  as  long  as 
that. 

Feliat.  If  it 's  absolutely  necessary,  one  might 
make  them  some  little  concessions. 

Gueret.     I  '11  do  all  I  can. 


Act  III      Woman  on  Her  Own  93 

Feliat.  Yes.  And  if  they  're  too  exacting,  we  '11 
let  them  go,  and  the  women  shall  get  the  stuff  finished 
up  for  us.      [There  is  a  knock  at  the  door^      Come  in. 

Rene  comes  in. 

GuERET.     Hullo ! 

Feliat.     Rene ! 

GuERET.     You  or  your  ghost? 

Feliat.  Where  do  you  come  from.''  Nobody  's 
heard  of  you  for  a  hundred  years. 

Rene.  Come  now,  only  six  months,  and  you  've  had 
some  news. 

Feliat.     Where  are  you  from  last.'' 

Rene.     From  Tunis. 

GuERET.     And  what  are  you  doing  here? 

Rene.  I  '11  tell  you  all  about  it.  I  want  to  have  a 
bit  of  a  talk  with  you. 

Feliat.     Well,  we  're  listening. 

GuERET.     You  're  mighty  solemn  about  it. 

Rene.     It 's  extremely  serious  business. 

Feliat.  Don't  be  tragic.  You  're  here  safe  and 
sound ;  and  you  've  not  lost  money,  because  you  'd  none 
to  lose. 

Rene.     I  've  come  to  marry  Therese. 

Gueret.  Well,  I  must  say  you  don't  beat  about  the 
bush. 

Feliat.  But  it 's  to  your  own  people  you  've  got  to 
say  that.  What  the  devil  —  !  Therese  has  no  more 
money  than  she  had  a  year  ago.     So  — 

Rene.     I  '11  marry  her  in  spite  of  them. 

Gueret.     Well,  we  've  nothing  to  do  with  it. 

Rene.  Yes,  but  I  don't  want  to  marry  her  in  spite 
of  you. 

Feliat.     Nor  in  spite  of  herself. 

Rene.     I  'm  certain  she  won't  say  no. 

Feliat.  But  a  year  ago  you  solemnly  separated; 
you  both  agreed  everything  was  over. 


94  Woman  on  Her  Own      Act  III 

Rene.     Nothing  was  over.     A  year  ago  I  was  a  fool. 

GuERET.     To  the  point  again. 

Feliat.     And  what  are  you  now.'' 

Rene.  At  any  rate  I  am  not  quite  useless  any 
longer.  I  'm  not  a  boy  now,  obliged  to  do  what  he  's 
told  because  he 's  perfectly  incapable  of  doing  for 
himself. 

Feliat.     Have  you  found  something  to  do? 

Rene.     I  'm  in  phosphates. 

Feliat,     And  what  the  devil  are  you  in  phosphates.'* 

Rene.     Representative. 

Feliat.     How  do  you  mean? 

Rene.  A  commercial  traveller,  as  father  said  with 
great  contempt. 

Geret.  Well,  it  was  not  with  a  view  to  that  sort  of 
future  that  he  had  you  called  to  the  Bar. 

Rene.  At  the  Bar  I  could  have  earned  my  own 
living  in  about  ten  years  —  possibly.  When  I  had  to 
give  up  marrying  Therese  I  saw  how  useless  I  was. 
Thanks  to  her  I  found  myself  out.  She  gave  me  a 
bit  of  her  own  courage.  She  woke  up  my  self-respect. 
Besides,  after  that  I  had  something  to  work  for,  an 
aim,  and  I  seemed  to  understand  why  I  was  alive.  I 
worked  and  read  a  lot;  my  firm  noticed  me;  they 
sent  me  to  Tunis.  I  asked  them  to  let  me  give  up 
clerk  work  and  have  a  try  on  my  own.  Over  there  I 
got  into  touch  with  three  small  firms.  I  placed  their 
goods.  I  earn  four  hundred  francs  a  month.  Next 
year  I  mean  to  start  a  little  branch  in  this  district 
where  we  will  manufacture  superphosphates.  From  now 
until  then  I  shall  travel  about  the  district  and  try  and 
get  customers ;  and  my  wife  —  and  Therese  —  will  go  on 
with  her  work  here,  if  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  keep  her. 

GuERET.  Ouf !  Think  of  a  young  man  who  can 
talk  as  long  as  that,  without  taking  breath,  giving  up 
the  Bar.     What  a  pity ! 


Act  III      Woman  on  Her  Own  95 

Feliat  [to  Rene]  Have  you  told  all  that  to  your 
people  ? 

Rene.  Yes.  They  're  not  at  all  proud  of  my  business. 
And  after  refusing  to  let  me  marry  Therese  because 
she  had  no  money  they  won't  let  me  marry  her  now 
because  she  works  for  her  living.  To  be  directress  of 
a  bindery,  even  of  your  bindery,  uncle,  is  not  dis- 
tinguished enough   for  them. 

Feliat.  Well,  my  boy,  you  certainly  could  n't  have 
stood  up  to  things  like  that  a  year  ago.  What  d'  you 
want  us  to  do  for  you  ?  Therese  does  n't  want  our 
consent  to  marry;  nor  do  you. 

While  Monsieur  Feliat  has  been  speaking,  old  Mother 
Bougne  has  come  in  from  the  right.  She  is  a  poor  old 
workxvoman  who  walks  with  difficulty ,  leaning  on  a 
broom,  from  which  one  feels  that  she  never  parts.  She 
has  a  bunch  of  keys  at  her  waistbelt;  her  apron  is 
turned  up  and  makes  a  sort  of  pocket  into  which  she 
slips  pieces  of  paper  and  scraps  that  she  picks  up  from 
the  floor.     Rene  looks  at  her  with  surprise. 

Feliat,  You  're  looking  at  Mother  Bougne.  Good- 
morning,  Mother   Bougne. 

Mother    Bougne.     Good-morning,   Monsieur    Feliat. 

Feliat.    When  does  the  Committee  of  your  Union  sit? 

Mother  Bougne.     On  Wednesday,  Monsieur  Feliat. 

Feliat.     You  won't  miss  it,  will  you? 

Mother  Bougne.  I  have  n't  missed  one  up  to  now, 
Monsieur  Feliat. 

Feliat.  That 's  right.  [She  goes  out  at  the  back 
during  what  follows.  Monsieur  Feliat  turns  to  Rene 
and  says]  We  call  Mother  Bougne  our  Minister  of 
the  Interior,  because  she  tries  to  keep  the  place  tidy. 
She  's  been  a  weaver  near  Rouen  since  she  was  eight 
years  old ;  she  's  been  stranded  here. 

Rene.  And  she  's  a  member  of  the  Committee  of  the 
Union  ? 


96  Woman  on  Her  Own      Act  III 

GuERET.  Yes,  she  's  a  member.  Therese  insisted  on 
it.  When  Therese  founded  a  Woman's  Trade  Union 
here  she  had  the  nice  idea  of  including  among  them 
this  poor  old  creature,  wrecked  by  misery  and  hard 
work.  Our  Therese  has  ideas  like  that.  [With 
a  change  of  tone]  But  business,  business.  What  do 
you  want  us  to  do  for  you? 

Rene.  I  've  come  to  ask  you  two  things.  The  first 
is  to  try  to  get  round  my  people. 

Feliat.  Well,  I  '11  try.  But  I  know  your  father. 
He  's  even  more  obstinate  than  I  am  myself.  I  shan't 
make  the  smallest  impression  upon  him.     What  else? 

Rene.  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  Therese  in  your 
presence. 

Feliat.  In  our  presence!  Now  listen,  my  boy. 
Our  presence  will  be  much  more  useful  in  the  work 
rooms.  We  have  our  hands  full  here.  You  've  dropped 
in  just  at  the  point  of  a  split  between  workmen  and  em- 
ployers. Besides,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  think  I  know 
pretty  well  what  you  have  to  say  to  Therese.  I  '11  send 
her  to  you.  And,  look  here,  don't  keep  her  too  long, 
because  she 's  got  her  hands  full  too.  [To  Gueret} 
Will  you  go  and  telephone  to  Duriot's? 

Gueret  [looking  at  his  watch]  Yes,  there  might  be 
some  news.      [He  goes  out] 

Feliat  [to  Rene]     And  I  '11  send  Therese  here. 

He  goes  out  and  Rene  is  alone  for  a  few  moments. 
Then  Therese  comes  in.  They  advance  towards  each 
other  quietly. 

Therese.     How  do  you  do,  Rene? 

Rene.     How  are  you,  Therese? 

They  shake  hands,  then,  giving  way  to  their  feelings, 
they  kiss  each  other  tenderly  and  passionately. 

Therese  [in  a  low  voice]  That  '11  do ;  don't,  Rene 
dear.  [She  withdraws  gently  from  his  embrace] 
Don't.     Let 's  talk.     Have  you  seen  your  people  ? 


Act  III      Woman  on  Her  Own  97 

Rene.     Yes. 

Therese.     Well  ? 

Rene.  Well,  Therese,  they  won't  come  to  our 
wedding. 

Therese.     They  still  refuse  their  consent? 

Rene.    We  can  do  without  it. 

Therese.     But  they  refuse  it.-^ 

Rene.  Yes.  Forgive  me,  my  dearest,  for  asking 
you  to  take  just  my  own  self.  Do  you  love  me  enough 
to  marry  me  quite  simply,  without  any  relations,  since 
I  leave  my  relations  for  your  sake? 

Therese.  My  dear,  we  mustn't  do  that;  we  must 
wait. 

Rene.  No,  I  won't  wait.  I  won't  lose  the  best  time 
of  my  life,  and  years  of  happiness,  for  the  sake  of 
prejudices  I  don't  believe  in.  Do  you  remember  what 
you  said  to  me  the  night  we  played  Barberine?  You 
were  splendid.  You  said:  "Marry  me  all  the  same,  in 
spite  of  my  poverty."  \_She  makes  a  movement  to  stop 
him]  Oh,  let  me  —  please  let  me  go  on !  I  was  only 
a  miserable  weakling  then,  I  was  frightened  about  the 
future.  But  you  roused  me  and  set  me  going.  If  I  'm 
a  man  now,  it 's  to  you  I  owe  it.  Thanks  to  you  I 
know  how  splendid  it  is  to  trust  one's  self  and  struggle, 
and  hope,  and  succeed.  Now  I  can  come  to  you  and 
say:  "I  am  the  man  you  wanted  me  to  be,  let  us  marry 
and  live  together."  Oh,  together,  together !  How 
splendid  it  sounds !  Do  you  remember  how  you  said 
that  night  long  ago:  "Let  us  conquer  our  place  in  the 
world  together  "  ? 

Therese.     Oh,   Rene!   Rene!     We  must  wait! 

Rene.  Why?  Why  must  we  wait?  What  possible 
reason  can  you  have  for  not  doing  now  what  you 
wanted  me  to  do  a  year  ago?  Don't  you  believe  in 
me? 

Therese.     Oh  yes,  yes.     It 's  not  that ! 


98  Woman  on  Her  Own      Act  III 

Rene.  What  is  it  then?  Therese,  you  frighten  me. 
It  seems  as  if  you  were  hiding  something  from  me. 

Therese.     No,  no.     What  an  idea ! 

Rene.  Is  it  —  oh,  can  it  be  that  you  don't  love  me 
so  much? 

Therese.  Oh,  Rene,  no,  no.  Don't  think  that  for 
a  moment. 

Rene.  But  you  're  not  being  straight  with  me. 
You  're  hiding  something. 

Therese.     Don't  ask  me. 

Rene.     Therese ! 

Therese.     Oh,  please  don't  ask  me ! 

Rene.  Now,  you  know  very  well  that 's  impossible. 
How  can  there  be  secrets  between  us?  You  and  I  are 
the  sort  of  people  who  are  straight  with  one  another. 
I  must  have  my  share  in  everything  that  makes  you 
unhappy. 

Therese.  Well,  then,  I  must  tell  you.  It 's  about 
your  father  and  mother.  Oh,  how  I  wish  I  need  n't 
tell  you.  Rene,  while  you  've  been  away  your  people 
have  been  dreadful  to  me.  Your  father  came  here 
to  see  me.  He  wanted  me  to  swear  never  to  see  you 
again  —  never.  Of  course  I  would  n't.  When  I  re- 
fused to  give  in  he  said  it  was  through  worldly  wisdom. 
He  said:  "  If  he  was  n't  going  to  inherit  my  money,  you 
would  n't  hang  on  to  him  like  this."  He  dared  to  say 
that  to  me,  Rene  —  your  father  whom  I  have  always 
wanted  to  respect  and  love.  He  thought  that  of  me. 
And  then  I  swore  to  him,  and  I  've  sworn  to  myself, 
that  I  '11  never  marry  you,  never,  without  his  consent. 
I  cannot  be  suspected  of  that.  You  understand,  don't 
you?  The  poorer  I  am  the  prouder  I  ought  to  be. 
[She  bursts  into  tears^  My  dear  —  my  dear !  How 
unhappy  I  am !     How  dreadfully  unhappy  I  am ! 

Rene.     My  darling !      [He  kisses  her] 

Therese.     Don't,    Rene !     I    could  n't    help    telling 


Act  III      Woman  on  Her  Own  99 

you.  But  you  understand,  my  dearest^  that  we  've  got 
to  wait  until  he  knows  me  better. 

Rene   [forcibly]      No.     We  will  not  wait. 

Therese.      I  '11  never  break  my  word. 

Rene.  What  d' you  want  us  to  wait  for?  A  change 
of  opinion  that  '11  probably  never  come.  And  our 
youth  will  go,  we  shall  have  spoilt  our  lives.  You 
want  to  send  me  back  to  Paris  all  alone  and  unhappy, 
to  spend  long  silent  evenings  thinking  about  you  and 
suffering  from  not  being  with  you,  while  you,  here,  will 
be  suffering  in  the  same  way,  in  the  same  loneliness. 
And  we  love  each  other,  and  it  absolutely  depends  only 
on  ourselves  whether  we  shall  change  our  double  un- 
happiness  for  a  double  joy.  [Changing  his  tone]  I 
can't  stand  it,  Therese.  I  've  loved  you  for  two  years, 
and  all  this  last  year  I  've  toiled  and  slaved  to  win  you. 
[Low  and  ardently]      I  want  you. 

Therese.     Oh,  hush,  hush  ! 

Rene.  I  want  you.  You  're  the  one  woman  I  Ve 
loved  in  my  life.  My  love  for  you  is  my  life.  I  can't 
give  up  my  life.  Listen:  I  have  to  be  in  Paris  this 
evening;  are  you  going  to  let  me  leave  you  broken- 
hearted ? 

Therese.  Do  you  think  that  I  'm  not  broken- 
hearted? 

Rene.  I  shan't  suffer  any  the  less  because  I  know 
that  you  're  suffering  too. 

Therese.     It  does  n't  depend  upon  us. 

Rene.  It  depends  entirely  upon  us.  Look  here,  if 
people  refuse  to  let  us  marry,  our  love  for  each  other 
is  strong  enough  to  do  without  marriage.  Therese, 
come  with  me ! 

Therese.  Oh,  Rene,  Rene !  What  are  you  asking 
me  to  do  ? 

Rene.  Have  3'^ou  faith  in  me?  Look  at  me.  Do 
you  think  I  'm  sincere  ?     Do  you  think  I  'm  an  honest 


100  Woman  on  Her  Own      Act  III 

man?  Do  you  think  that,  if  people  refuse  to  let  us 
go  through  a  ridiculous  ceremony  together,  our  union 
will  be  any  the  less  durable?  Is  it  the  ceremony  that 
makes  it  real?  Therese,  come  with  me.  Come  this 
evening ;  let 's  go  together ;  let 's  love  each  other.  Oh, 
if  you  loved  me  as  much  as  I  love  you,  you  would  n't 
hesitate  for  a  second. 

Therese.     Oh,  don't  say  that,  I  implore  you! 

Rene.     Then  you  don't  trust  me? 

Therese.     I  won't  do  it.     I  won't  do  it. 

Rene.  What  prevents  you?  You're  absolutely 
alone,  you  have  no  relations.  You  owe  nothing  to 
anybody.  No  one  will  suffer  for  your  action.  You  've 
already  given  a  year  of  your  life  to  the  foolish  pre- 
judices of  society.  You  've  shown  them  respect  enough. 
First  they  prevented  our  marriage  because  you  were 
poor;  now  they  want  to  prevent  it  because  you  work. 
Thanks  to  you  I  have  been  able  to  assert  myself  and 
get  free.  My  father  and  mother  can  keep  their  money. 
I  don't  want  it.     Come. 

Therese  [in  tears]  You  're  torturing  me.  Oh,  my 
dear,  you  're  making  me  most  unhappy.  I  could  never 
do  that,  never.  Don't  be  angry  with  me.  I  love 
you.     I  swear  that  I  love  you. 

Rene.  I  love  you,  Therese,  I  swear  that  I  love  you. 
All  my  life  is  yours.  [He  breaks  down]  Don't  make 
me  so  unhappy.  The  more  unhappy,  the  more  I  love 
you. 

Therese.     I  could  n't  do  it. 

Monsieur  Feliat  comes  in. 

Feliat.  Hullo !  Was  it  to  make  her  cry  like  that 
that  you  wanted  to  see  her?  Is  that  what  you've 
learnt  "in  phosphates"?  [To  Therese]  Don't,  my 
dear.  [In  a  tone  of  kindly  remonstrance]  You !  Is 
it  you  I  find  crying  like  a  little  schoolgirl?  [Therese 
•wipes  her  eyes]     Oh,  I  understand  all  about  it.     But 


Act  III      Woman  on  Her  Own  101 

his  father  will  give  in  in  the  end.     And  you,  Rene,  be 
reasonable,  don't  hurry  things. 

Rene.     But  I  want  — 

Feliat  [interrupting  him^  No,  no,  for  goodness' 
sake,  not  just  now.  We  '11  talk  about  it  later  on.  Just 
now  we  have  other  fish  to  fry.  We  're  in  a  fix,  my 
young  lover.  We  've  got  to  face  some  very  serious  dif- 
ficulties.    Go  along  with  you. 

Monsieur  Gueret  comes  in. 

Gueret  [to  Monsieur  Feliat}  One  of  the  delegates 
of  the  Central  Committee  is  outside. 

Feliat.     And  what  does  the  brute  want? 

Gueret  [makes  a  gesture  of  caution  and  points  to 
the  door]  He  wishes  to  speak  to  the  Chairman  of  the 
Women's  Union. 

Feliat.  Oh,  ask  the  gentleman  in.  [To  Rene] 
My  boy,  you  must  be  off.     I  '11  see  you  presently. 

Rene.     Yes,  presently. 

Therese  [aside  to  Rene]  Be  at  the  station  half  an 
hour  before  the  train  goes.    I  '11  be  there  to  say  good-bye. 

Rene  goes  out.  Monsieur  Gueret  brings  in  the  dele- 
gate and  goes  out  again  himself. 

Feliat.     Good-morning.     What  can   I   do   for  you? 

Delegate.  I  am  a  delegate  from  the  Central  Com- 
mittee in  Paris. 

Feliat.  I  am  Monsieur  Feliat,  the  owner  of  these 
works.     I  'm  at  your  service. 

Delegate.  It 's  not  to  you  I  wish  to  speak.  This  is 
a  question  which  does  n't  concern  you. 

Feliat.     Which  does  n't  concern  me! 

Delegate.  Not  at  present,  at  any  rate.  Will  you 
kindly  tell  me  where  I  can  find  the  person  I  have  come 
to  see? 

Feliat  [furious]  I  —  [controlling  himself]  She  is 
here.      [He  indicates  Therese] 

Monsieur  Feliat  goes  out  to  the  right. 


102  Woman  on  Her  Own      Act  III 

Delegate.  Mademoiselle,  I  'm  here  as  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  Central  Committee  in  Paris  to  request 
you  to  break  up  your  Women's  Union. 

Therese.     So  that  's  it. 

Delegate.     That 's  it. 

Therese.     What  harm  does  it  do  you? 

Delegate.     It  strengthens  you  too  much  against  us. 

Therese.  If  I  asked  you  to  break  up  yours  for  the 
same  reason,  what  would  you  say  to  me? 

Delegate.  Our  union  is  to  fight  the  masters ;  yours 
is  to  fight  us. 

Therese.     It  does  you  no  harm  whatever. 

Delegate.  Your  union  supports  a  movement  we  've 
decided  to  fight. 

Therese.     What  movement? 

Delegate.  The  movement  of  the  competition  of 
women,  the  invasion  of  the  labor  market  by  female 
labor. 

Therese.     Not  a  very  dangerous  invasion. 

Delegate.  You  think  not.  Listen.  I  've  just  come 
down  from  Paris.  Who  gave  me  my  railway  ticket? 
A  woman.  Who  did  I  find  behind  the  counter  at  the 
Post  Office?  A  woman.  Who  was  at  the  end  of  the 
telephone  wire?  A  woman.  I  had  to  get  some  money; 
it  was  a  woman  who  gave  it  to  me  at  the  bank.  I  don't 
even  speak  of  the  women  doctors  and  lawyers.  And  in 
industry,  like  everywhere  else,  women  want  to  supplant 
us.  There  are  women  now  even  in  the  metal-working 
shops.  Everyone  has  the  right  to  defend  himself 
against  competition.  The  workmen  are  going  to  de- 
fend themselves. 

Therese.  Without  troubling  about  the  consequences. 
To  take  away  a  woman's  right  to  work  is  to  condemn 
her  to  starvation  or  prostitution.  You  're  not  competi- 
tors, you  're  enemies. 

Delegate.     You  're   mistaken.     We  're   so  little   the 


Act  III      Woman  on  Her  Own  103 

enemies  of  the  women  that  in  asking  you  to  do  away 
with  your  Union  we  're  speaking  in  your  own  interest. 

Therese.     Bah ! 

Delegate.  We  don't  want  women  to  take  lower 
wages  than  ours. 

Therese.  I  know  the  phrase.  "  Equal  wages  for 
equal  work." 

Delegate.     That 's  absolutely  just. 

Therese.     The  masters  won't  give  those  equal  wages. 

Delegate.  The  women  have  a  means  of  forcing 
them  to;  they  can  strike. 

Therese.     We  don't  wish  to  employ  those  means. 

Delegate.  I  beg  your  pardon,  the  women  would 
consent  at  once.  It 's  you  that  prevent  them,  through 
the  Union  that  you  've  started.     Is  n't  that  so  ? 

Therese.     That  is  so.     But  you  know  why. 

Delegate.      No,  I  do  not  know  why. 

Therese.  Then  I  will  tell  you  why.  It  is  because 
the  phrase  only  seems  to  be  just  and  generous.  You 
know  very  well  that  here,  at  any  rate,  the  owner  would 
not  employ  any  more  women  if  he  had  to  pay  them 
the  same  wages  he  pays  the  men.  And  if  they  struck, 
he  'd  replace  them  by  men.  Your  apparent  solicitude 
is  only  hypocrisy.  In  reality  you  want  to  get  rid  of 
the  women. 

Delegate.  Well,  I  admit  that.  The  women  are  not 
competitors ;  they  're  enemies.  In  every  dispute  they  '11 
take  the  side  of  the  masters. 

Therese.     How  d' you  know  that.^ 

Delegate.  They  've  always  done  it,  because  women 
take  orders  by  instinct.  They  're  humble,  and  docile, 
and  easily  frightened. 

Therese.     Why  don't  you  say  inferiors,  at  once? 

Delegate.  Well,  yes;  inferiors,  the  majority  of 
them. 


104  Woman  on  Her  Own      Act  III 

Therese.  If  they  're  inferiors,  it 's  only  right  that 
they  should  take  lower  wages. 

Delegate.     Oh,  I  did  n't  mean  to  say  — 

Therese  [^interrupting  him]  But  it 's  not  true  —  they 
are  not  your  inferiors.  If  they  believe  they  are,  it 's 
because  of  the  wrongs  and  humiliations  you  've  imposed 
on  them  for  centuries.  You  men  stick  together.  Why 
are  we  not  to  do  the  same?  If  you  start  trade  unions, 
why  may  not  we .''  As  a  matter  of  fact,  as  regards  work, 
we  're  your  equals.  We  need  our  wages ;  and  to  get 
hold  of  the  jobs  that  we  're  able  to  do  we  offer  our  work 
at  a  cheaper  rate  than  you  do.  That  is  competition; 
you  must  protect  yourselves  from  it.  If  you  want  no 
more  competition,  keep  your  women  at  home  and  sup- 
port them. 

Delegate.  But  that's  precisely  what  we  want: 
"The  man  in  the  workshop,  the  woman  in  the  home." 

Therese.  If  the  mother  is  not  at  home  nowadays, 
it 's  because  the  man  is  in  the  saloon. 

Delegate.  The  men  go  to  the  saloons  because 
they  're  tired  of  finding  the  place  badly  kept  and  the 
supper  not  ready  when  they  go  home,  and  instead  of 
a  wife  a  tired-out  factory  hand. 

Therese.  D'  you  think  it 's  to  amuse  themselves  the 
women  go  to  work?  Don't  you  suppose  they  prefer 
a  quiet  life  in  their  own  homes  ? 

Delegate.     They  've  only  got  to  stay  there. 

Therese.     And  who  's  to  support  them  ? 

Delegate.     Their  husbands ! 

Therese.  First  they  've  got  to  have  husbands. 
What  about  the  ones  who  have  no  husbands  —  the  girls, 
the  widows,  the  abandoned  ?  Is  n't  it  better  to  give 
them  a  trade  than  to  force  them  to  take  a  lover?  Some 
of  them  want  to  leave  off  being  obliged  to  beg  for  the 
help  of  a  man.  Can't  you  see  that  for  a  lot  of  women 
work   means   freedom?     Can   you   blame  them   for  de- 


Act  III      Woman  on  Her  Own  105 

manding  the  right  to  work  ?  That 's  the  victory  they  're 
fighting  for. 

Delegate.  I  'm  not  at  all  sure  that  that  victory  is 
a  desirable  one.  Indeed,  I  'm  sure  it  is  not.  When 
you  've  succeeded  in  giving  the  woman  complete  inde- 
pendence through  hard  work;  when  you  have  taken  her 
children  from  her  and  handed  them  over  to  a  creche; 
when  you  've  severed  her  from  her  domestic  duties  and 
also  from  all  domestic  happiness  and  joy,  how  d' you 
know  she  won't  turn  round  and  demand  to  have  her 
old  slavery  back  again?  The  quietness  and  peace  of 
her  own  home.''  The  right  to  care  for  her  own  husband 
and  nurse  her  own  child? 

Therese.  But  can't  you  see  that  it 's  just  that  that 
the  immense  majority  of  women  are  demanding  now? 
We  want  the  women  to  stay  at  home  just  as  much  as 
you  do.  But  how  are  you  going  to  make  that  possible? 
At  present  the  money  spent  on  drink  equals  the  total 
of  the  salaries  paid  to  women.  So  the  problem  is  to 
get  rid  of  drunkenness.  But  the  middle  classes  refuse 
to  meet  this  evil  straightforwardly  because  the  votes 
which  keep  them  in  power  are  in  the  pockets  of  the 
publicans;  and  you  socialist  leaders  refuse  just  as  much 
as  the  middle  classes  really  to  tackle  the  drink  question 
because  you  're  as  keen  for  votes  as  they  are.  You  've 
got  to  look  the  situation  in  the  face.  We  're  on  the 
threshold  of  a  new  era.  In  every  civilized  country,  in 
the  towns  and  in  the  rural  districts,  from  the  destitute 
and  from  the  poor,  from  every  home  that  a  man  has 
deserted  for  drink  or  left  empty  because  men  have  no 
longer  the  courage  to  marry,  a  woman  will  appear,  who 
comes  out  from  that  home  and  will  sit  down  by  your 
side  in  the  workshop,  in  the  factory,  at  the  office,  in 
the  counting  house.  You  don't  want  her  as  housewife; 
and  as  she  refuses  to  be  a  prostitute,  she  will  become 
a  woman-worker,  a  competitor;  and  finally,  because  she 


106  Woman  on  Her  Own      Act  III 

has  more  energy  than  you  have,  and  because  she  is  not  a 
drunkard,  she   will  take  your  places. 

Delegate  [brutally^  Well,  before  another  hour's 
gone  over  our  heads  you  '11  find  that  she  won't  start 
that  game  here. 

Monsieur  Feliat  comes  in. 

Feliat  \_to  the  delegate]  My  dear  sir,  a  thousand 
pardons  for  interrupting  you,  but  as  I  've  just  turned 
your  friend  out  of  my  house  because  he  took  advantage 
of  being  in  it  to  start  a  propaganda  against  me,  what 's 
the  use  of  your  going  on  talking  to  this  lady  about  a 
course  of  action  she  will  no  more  consent  to  than  I 
shall? 

Delegate.  Very  well,  Monsieur.  I  shall  tele- 
phone to  Paris  for  instructions.  Probably  you  will  re- 
fuse to  let  me  use  your  instrument. 

Feliat.     I  most  certainly  shall. 

Delegate.  So  I  shall  go  to  the  Post  Office,  and  in 
ten  minutes  — 

Feliat.  Go,  my  dear  sir,  go.  But  let  me  tell  you 
in  a  friendly  way  that  it  '11  take  you  more  than  ten 
minutes  to  get  on  to  Paris. 

Delegate.  It  takes  you  more,  perhaps,  but  not  me. 
Good-morning.      [The  delegate  goes  out] 

Feliat  [to  Therese]  The  low  brute!  Things  are 
not  going  well.  What  happened  at  Duriot's  has  made 
a  very  unfortunate  impression  here.  The  news  that 
you  were  going  to  open  a  new  workshop  for  the  women 
has  been  twisted  and  distorted  by  gossip  and  chatter, 
and  my  men  have  been  worked  up  by  the  other  brute 
to  come  and  threaten  me. 

Therese.     What  d' you  mean? 

Feliat.  They  threaten  me  with  a  strike  and  with 
blacklisting  me  if  I  don't  give  up  the  idea. 

Therese.  You  can't  give  up  absolutely  certain 
profits. 


Act  III      Woman  on  Her  Own  107 

Feliat.  If  I  am  too  obstinate,  it  may  result  in  much 
larger  losses  which  will  be  equally  certain. 

Therese.     But  what  then? 

Feliat.  I  've  had  to  promise  that  for  the  present 
at  any  rate  there  's  no  question  of  taking  on  any  more 
women. 

Therese.     Oh ! 

Feliat.     What  could  I  do  ? 

Monsieur  Gueret  comes  in. 

Feliat  [to  Gueret]     Well.^ 

Gueret.     They  would  n't  listen. 

Feliat.  I  was  afraid  they  wouldn't.  [To  Therese] 
That 's  not  all.  Your  godfather  has  been  trying  some- 
thing else,  and  I  understand  he  's  not  succeeded.  I 
shall  have  to  take  the  mending  away  from  your  work- 
shop. 

Therese.     The  women  won't  agree  to  that. 

Gueret.  Perhaps  that  would  be  the  best  solution  of 
the  difficulty. 

Therese     [startled]     Don't    say    that.     You     can't, 
mean  it.     Think ! 

Gueret.  What 's  more,  the  men  refuse  to  finish  the 
work  the  women  have  begun. 

Therese.     We  '11  finish  it. 

Gueret.     Then  they  '11  strike. 

Therese.  Let  them  strike.  Monsieur  Feliat,  you 
can  fight  now  and  get  terms  for  yourself.  Just  at  this 
moment  we  have  only  one  very  urgent  order.  If  the 
men  strike,  I  can  find  you  women  to  replace  them. 
Every  day  I  am  refusing  people  who  want  to  be 
taken  on. 

Gueret  [suddenly]      I  have  an  idea. 

Feliat.     What's  that? 

Guerat.     I  know  my  men ;   they  're  not  bad  fellows. 

Therese.     My  workers  are  splendid  women. 

Gueret.     Of  course  they  are.     As  a  matter  of  fact 


108  Woman  on  Her  Own      Act  III 

we  're  face  to  face  now,  not  with  a  fight  between  men 
and  masters,  but  with  a  fight  between  men-workers  and 
women-workers.  The  men  have  their  trade  union,  and 
the  women  have  theirs.  Both  unions  have  a  President 
and  two  Vice-Presidents.  Both  have  their  office.  We 
must  have  a  meeting  between  the  two  here  at  once,  in 
a  friendly,  sensible  way,  before  they  've  all  had  time 
to  excite  themselves ;  and  let  them  find  some  way  out 
that  '11  please  'em  all. 

Feliat.  But,  my  dear  fellow,  if  you  bring  them  to- 
gether, they  '11  tear  one  another's  eyes  out. 

GuERET.  Oh,  we  know  you  don't  believe  the  working 
classes  have  any  sense. 

Feliat  [between  his  teeth]  I  don't.  I  've  been  an 
employer  too  long. 

Therese  [to  Monsieur  Feliat]  Why  not  try  what 
my  godfather  suggests.''     What  do  you  risk? 

Feliat.  I  don't  mind.  But  I  will  have  nothing  to 
do  with  it  personally. 

GuERET.     Neither  will  I. 

Therese.  I  '11  go  and  see  if  Berthe  and  Constance 
are  here.  [To  Gueret]  You  go  and  fetch  your  men. 
[She  goes  out  to  the  left] 

Gueret.  I  give  you  my  word  that,  if  there  's  any 
possible  way  out,  this  is  the  only  chance  of  getting  at  it. 

Feliat.     Very  well,  go  and  fetch  them, 

Gueret  goes  out.  Therese  comes  in  with  Berthe 
and  Constance.  They  are  wearing  large  aprons  and 
have  scissors  attached  to  their  waistbelts.  Berthe 
is  a  fat,  ordinary  woman.  Constance  is  tall,  dry,  and 
ugly. 

Berthe  [respectfully]  Good-morning,  Monsieur 
Feliat. 

Constance  [the  same]  Good-morning,  Monsieur 
Feliat. 

Therese.     I  want  Berthe  and  Constance  to  tell  you 


Act  III      Woman  on  Her  Own  109 

themselves  whether  you  can  count  upon  them  in  case 
of  the  men  striking. 

Constance.  Oh  yes,  Monsieur  Feliat.  We  11  do 
anything  you  want  us  to. 

Berthe.     Oh,  Monsieur  Feliat,  don't  send  us  away! 

Constance  [imploringlyl  Oh,  Monsieur  Feliat,  you 
won't  send  us  away,  will  you? 

Berthe.     We  do  want  the  work  so.  Monsieur. 

Constance.     It 's  God's  truth  we  do. 

Feliat.  I  '11  do  everything  possible  on  my  side,  but 
it  all  depends  on  yourselves  and  the  men.  Try  to  come 
to  some  understanding. 

Constance.     Yes,  Monsieur. 

Berthe  [lowering  her  voice']  If  you  can't  pay  us 
quite  as  much  for  the  mending,  we  don't  mind  taking 
a  little  less.     You  'd  keep  it  dark,  wouldn't  you.'' 

Feliat.     We  '11  see  about  it. 

Girard,  Ckarpin,  Deschaume,  and  Vincent  come  in. 

Workmen  [very  civil  and  speaking  together]  Good- 
morning,  ladies  and  gents. 

Feliat.  Has  my  brother  explained  to  you  why  he 
asked  you  to  meet  the  representatives  of  the  Women's 
Union  and  to  try  to  come  to  an  understanding  with 
them? 

Girard.     Yes,  Monsieur  Feliat. 

Charpin.  That 's  all  we  want.  All  friends  together, 
like. 

Deschaume.     That 's  the  hammer,  mate ! 

Feliat.  Then  I  '11  go.  Do  try  and  keep  your 
tempers. 

All  [speaking  together]  Oh  yes.  To  be  sure,  sir. 
You  need  n't  trouble,  sir. 

Feliat  goes  out.  The  workmen  and  workwomen 
left  together  shake  hands  all  round  without  any  partic- 
ular courtesy  or  cordiality . 

Charpin.     Well,  what  d' you  say  to  a  sit  down? 


110  Woman  on  Her  Own      Act  III 

Deschaume  ^speaking  of  Charpin^  That  lazy 
swine  's  only  comfortable  when  he  's  sittin'  down. 

Charpin.  I  ain't  agoing  to  tire  meself  for  nix,  not 
'arf! 

Berthe  and  Constance  have  mechanically  brought 
chairs  for  the  workmen,  who  take  them  without  any 
thanks,  accustomed  as  they  are  to  be  waited  upon. 
When  all  are  seated  they  see  that  Therese  has  been  left 
standing. 

Constance    [rising]      Have  my  chair.  Mademoiselle. 

Therese.     No,  thank  you,  I  prefer  to  stand. 

Charpin.  I  see  that  all  our  little  lot 's  here. 
There  's  four  on  us,  but  only  three  'er  you. 

Deschaume  [meaningly]  One  of  the  hens  ain't 
turned  up  yet. 

Charpin  [sniggering]     Perhaps  she  's  a  bit  shy,  like. 

Therese.  You  mean  Mother  Bougne.  You,  work- 
men yourselves,  mock  at  an  old  woman  wrecked  by 
work.  But  you  're  right.  She  ought  to  be  here.  I  '11 
go  and  fetch  her.  Only  to  look  at  her  would  be  an 
argument  on  our  side.      [She  goes  out  to  the  right] 

Deschaume.  Mademoiselle  Therese  need  n't  kick 
up  such  a  dust  about  a  little  thing  like  that.  There  's 
four  on  us;  so  there  must  be  four  on  you,  in  case  we 
have  to  take  a  vote. 

Therese  comes  back  with  Mother  Bougne. 

Tui^KESTH  [to  the  workmen]  Give  me  a  chair.  [They 
do  so]  Sit  down.  Mother  Bougne.  [Insisting] 
Mother  Bougne,  sit  down. 

Mother  Bougne.  Oh,  don't  trouble,  miss,  I  'm  not 
used  to  — 

Therese  [sharply]      Sit  down. 

Mother  Bougne  sits  down. 

Charpin.     Well,  here  's  the  bloomin'  bunch  of  us. 

Deschaume.     We  'd  best  fix  up  a  chairman. 

Girard.     What 's  the  good  of  that.'' 


Act  III      Woman  on  Her  Own  111 

Deschaume.  We  'd  best  have  you,  Girard.  You  've 
education,  and  you  're  up  to  all  the  dodges  about  public 
meetings. 

Girard.     It 's  not  worth  while. 

Deschaume.  Well,  I  only  put  it  forrard  because 
it 's  the  usual.  But  have  it  your  own  way !  [A  si- 
lence] Only  don't  all  jaw  at  once.  You  '11  see  you  '11 
want  a  chairman,  I  tell  you  that,  but  I  don't  care.  It 
ain't  my  show. 

Charpin.     Get  a  move  on  you,  Girard,  and  speak  up. 

Girard.     Well,  ladies  — 

Vincent  [interrupting]  Now  look  here.  I  want  to 
get  at  an  understandin'. 

Therese.  Monsieur  Girard,  will  you  be  kind  enough 
to  speak  for  your  friends?  We  have  nothing  to  say 
on  our  part.     We  're  asking  for  nothing. 

Girard.  Well,  that 's  true.  We  want  to  have  the 
mending  back. 

Therese.     And  we  don't  mean  to  give  it  up. 

Girard.  Well,  we  expected  that.  Now,  to  show  you 
that  we  're  not  such  a  bad  lot  as  you  think,  we  '11  share 
it  with  you  on  two  conditions.  The  first  is  that  you  're 
paid  the  same  wages  as  we  are. 

Deschaume.  Look  here,  that  won't  suit  me  at  all, 
that  won't.  If  my  old  woman  gets  as  much  as  me, 
how  am  I  to  keep  her  under?  Blimey,  she'll  think 
she  's  my  bloomin'  equal ! 

Girard  [impatiently]  Oh,  bung  her  into  some  other 
berth.  Let  me  go  on.  The  second  condition  is  that 
you  are  n't  to  have  a  separate  workshop.  We  '11  all 
work  together  as  we  used  to. 

Therese.     Why? 

Deschaume.  You  women  do  a  damned  sight  too 
much  for  your  ha'pence. 

Girard.  Yes,  it 's  all  in  the  interests  of  the  masters. 
It 's  against  solidarity. 


112  Woman  on  Her  Own      Act  III 

Therese.  Will  you  allow  me  to  express  my  astonish- 
ment that  you  should  make  conditions  with  us  when 
you  wish  to  take  something  from  us? 

Charpin.  We  're  ony  tellin'  you  our  terms  for  shar- 
ing the  work  with  you. 

Therese.  I  quite  understand;  but  we  have  no  desire 
to  share  it  with  you.  We  mean  to  keep  it.  And  I  'm 
greatly  surprised  to  hear  you  suggest  that  we  should 
all  work  together. 

Constance.     Indeed  we  won't. 

Deschaume.  Why  not,  Mademoiselle.''  When  we 
worked  together  — 

Constance  \^interrupting'\  When  we  worked  with 
you  before,  you  played  all  sorts  of  dirty  tricks  on  us  to 
make  us  leave. 

Deschaume.  What  tricks.^  Did  you  hear  anything 
about  that,  Charpin? 

Charpin.  I  dunnow  what  she 's  talkin'  about. 
D'  you  Vincent? 

Vincent.  Look  here,  I  only  want  to  get  to  an  un- 
derstandin'. 

Constance.  You  never  stopped  sayin'  beastly 
things. 

Deschaume  and  Carpin  [protesting  together']  Oh! 
0-ho! 

Deschaume.  Well,  if  we  can't  have  a  bit  of  chippin' 
in  a  friendly  way  like ! 

Berthe.  Beastly  things  like  that  ain't  jokes.  I 
didn't  know  where  to  look  meself;  and  I've  sat  for  a 
sculptor,  so  I  ain't  too  particular. 

Charpin.  He  !  He  !  I  thought  she  was  talkin'  about 
that  old  joke  of  the  rats. 

The  men  laugh  together. 

Therese.  Yes,  you  're  laughing  about  it  still ! 
About  shutting  up  live  rats  in  our  desks  before  we 
came  to  work. 


Act  III      Woman  on  Her  Own  113 

GiRARD.     He  !     He !     We  did  n't  mean  any  harm. 

Therese.  You  didn't  mean  any  harm!  The  little 
apprentice  was  ill  for  a  week,  and  Madame  Dumont 
had  a  bad  fall.  You  thought  of  dozens  of  things  of 
that  kind,  like  the  typists  who  mixed  up  all  the  letters 
on  the  women's  desks.  When  we  went  away  to  get 
our  lunch,  you  came  and  spoilt  our  work  and  made 
the  women  lose  a  great  part  of  their  day's  pay  or  work 
hours  of  overtime.  We  don't  want  any  more  of  that. 
You  agreed  we  should  have  a  separate  workshop.  We  '11 
keep  it. 

GiRARD.  If  Monsieur  Feliat  sticks  to  you,  we  '11  have 
to  come  out  on  strike. 

Therese.  We  don't  want  Monsieur  Feliat  to  get 
into  trouble  because  of  us. 

GiRARD.     Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about  it? 

Therese.     We  '11  take  your  places. 

Charpin  [bringing  his  fist  down  with  a  bang  upon 
the  table]      Well,  I  'm  damned ! 

Deschaume  [threateningly]  If  you  do,  we  '11  have 
to  put  you  through  it! 

Constance.     We  '11  do  it ! 

GiRARD  [to  Therese]  D'  you  understand  now.  Made- 
moiselle, why  we  socialists  don't  want  women  in  the 
factory  or  in  the  workshop  ?  The  woman  's  the  devil 
because  of  the  low  salary  she  has  to  take.  She 's  a 
victim,  and  she  likes  to  be  a  victim,  and  so  she  's  the 
best  card  the  employer  has  to  play  against  a  strike. 
The  women  are  too  weak,  and  if  I  might  say  so,  too 
slavish  — 

Deschaume.     Yes,   that 's    the   word,    mate,    slavish. 

Berthe  [very  angry]  Look  at  that  man  there,  my 
husband,  and  hear  what  he 's  saying  before  me,  his 
wife,  that  he  makes  obey  him  like  a  dog.  He  beats 
me,  he  does.  You  don't  trouble  about  my  being  what 
you  call  slavish  when  it 's  you  that  profits  by  it !     I  'd 


114  Woman  on  Her  Own      Act  III 

like  to  tnow  who  taught  women  to  be  slavish  but  hus- 
bands like  you. 

Therese.  You  've  so  impressed  it  upon  women  that 
they  're  inferior  to  men  that  they  've  ended  by  believ- 
ing it. 

GiRARD.  Well,  maybe  there 's  exceptions,  but  it 's 
true  in  the  main. 

Deschaume.  Let  'em  stay  at  home,  I  says,  and  cook 
the  bloomin'  dinner. 

Berthe.  And  what  '11  they  cook  the  days  when  you 
spend  all  your  wages  in  booze. 

Girard.  It 's  the  people  that  started  you  working 
that  you  ought  to  curse. 

Berthe.  I  like  that !  It  was  my  husband  himself 
that  brought  me  to  the  workshop. 

Therese.     She  's  not  the  only  one,  eh,  Vincent? 

Vincent.  But  I  ain't  sayin'  nothin',  I  ain't.  What 
are  you  turnin'  on  me  for?     I  ain't  sayin'  nothin'. 

Berthe.  We  'd  like  nothing  better  than  to  stay  at 
home.     Why  don't  you  support  us  there? 

Constance.  It 's  because  you  don't  support  us  there 
that  you  've  got  to  let  us  work. 

Deschaume.     We  ain't  going  to. 

Berthe.     We  won't  give  in  to  you. 

Girard.     If  you  don't,  we  '11  turn  the  job  in. 

Therese.  And  I  tell  you  that  we  shall  take  your 
places. 

Deschaume.     Rats  !     You  can't  do  it. 

Therese.  We  could  n't  at  one  time,  that 's  true. 
But  now  we  've  got  the  machines.  The  machines 
drove  the  women  from  their  homes.  Up  to  lately  one 
had  to  have  a  man's  strength  for  the  work ;  now,  by 
just  pulling  a  lever,  a  woman  can  do  as  much  and  more 
than  the  strongest  man.     The  machines  revenge  us. 

Deschaume.     We  '11  smash  the  things. 


Act  III      Woman  on  Her  Own  115 

GiRARD.  She  's  right.  By  God,  she  's  right !  It 's 
them  machines  has  done  it.  If  any  one  had  told  my 
grandfather  a  time  would  come  when  one  chap  could 
keep  thousands  of  spindles  running  and  make  hundreds 
of  pairs  of  stockings  in  a  day,  and  yards  and  yards  of 
woollen  stuff,  and  socks  and  shirts  and  all,  why  grand- 
father 'd  've  thought  everybody  'd  have  shirts  and  socks 
and  comforters  and  shoes,  and  there  'd  be  no  more  hard 
work  and  empty  bellies.  Curse  the  damned  things  !  We 
works  longer  hours,  and  there  's  just  as  many  bare  feet 
and  poor  devils  shivering  for  want  of  clothes.  The 
machines  were  to  give  us  everything,  blast  'em !  The 
workers  are  rotten  fools  !  The  damned  machines  have 
made  nothing  but  hate  between  them  that  own  them 
and  them  that  work  them.  They  've  used  up  the  women 
and  even  the  children ;  and  it 's  all  to  sell  the  things 
they  make  to  niggers  or  Chinamen ;  and  maybe  we  '11 
have  war  about  it.  They  've  made  the  middle  classes 
rich,  and  they  're  the  starvation  of  all  of  us ;  and  after 
they  've  done  all  that,  here  are  the  women,  our  own 
women,  want  to  help  'em  to  best  us  ! 

Mother  Bougne.  You  're  right,  Girard.  When  I 
was  a  kid,  and  there  was  no  machines  —  leastways, 
not  to  speak  of  —  we  was  all  better  off.  Women  stayed 
at  home,  and  they  'd  got  enough  to  do.  Why,  my  old 
grandmother  used  to  fetch  water  from  the  well  and  be 
out  pickin'  up  sticks  before  it  was  light  of  a  mornin' ! 
Yes,  and  women  made  their  own  bread,  and  did  their 
washin',  and  made  their  bits  of  things  themselves  I 
Now  it 's  machines  for  everythin',  and  they  say  to 
us:  "  Come  into  the  factory  and  you  '11  earn  big  money." 
And  we  come,  like  silly  kids  !  Why,  fancy  me,  eight 
years  old,  taken  out  of  the  village  and  bunged  into  a 
spinnin'  mill !  Then,  when  I  was  married,  there  was 
me  in  a  workman's  dwellin'.  You  turn  a  tap  for  your 
water,   don't   fetch   it;   baker's   bread,   and  your  bit  of 


116  Woman  on  Her  Own      Act  III 

dinner  from  the  cookshop,  or  preserved  meat  out  of 
a  tin.  You  don't  make  a  fire,  you  turn  on  the  gas; 
your  stockin's  and  togs  all  fetched  out  of  a  shop. 
There  ain't  no  need  for  the  women  to  stay  at  home  no 
longer,  so  they  cuts  down  the  men's  wages  and  puts 
us  in  the  factories.  We  ain't  got  time  to  suckle  our 
kids;  and  now  they  don't  want  young  'uns  any 
more !  But  when  you  're  in  the  factory,  they  make 
yer  pay  through  the  nose  for  yer  gas  and  yer  water, 
and  baker's  bread  and  ready-made  togs ;  and  you  've 
got  nothin'  left  out  of  yer  bit  of  wages,  and  you  're  as 
poor  as  ever;  and  you're  only  a  "hand"  at  machines 
in  the  damp  and  smoke,  instead  of  bein'  in  your  own 
house  an'  decent  like.  What  are  you  fussin'  about, 
Girard?  Don't  you  see  that  we  can't  go  back  to  the 
old  times  now.''  A  woman  ain't  got  a  house  now,  only 
a  little  room  with  nothin'  but  a  dirty  bed  to  sleep  on ! 
And  I  tell  you,  Girard,  you  've  got  to  let  us  earn  our 
livin'  like  that  now,  because  it 's  you  and  the  likes  of 
you  that 's  brought  us  to  it. 

Girard.  Well,  after  all,  we  've  got  to  look  after  our 
living.     The  women  want  to  take  it  from  us. 

Mother  Bougne.  It 's  because  they  have  n't  got 
any  themselves,  my  lad.  They  've  got  to  live  as  well 
as  you,  you  see. 

Girard.  And  supposing  there  is  n't  enough  living 
for  everybody? 

Mother  Bougne.  The  strongest  '11  get  it  and  the 
weak  'uns  '11  be  done  in. 

Girard.  Well,  we  've  not  made  the  world,  and 
we  're  not  going  to  have  our  work  taken  away  from  us. 

Constance.     And  we  're  not,  either. 

Deschaume.     Damn  it  all,  we  've  got  to  live. 

Berthe.  Well,  we  've  got  to  live  too.  The  kids  has 
got  to  live  and  we  've  got  to  live.  One  would  think 
we  was  brute  beasts. 


Act  III      Woman  on  Her  Own  117 

Constance.  We  say  just  the  same  as  you.  We  've 
not  made  the  world,  it  ain't  our  fault. 

During  the  last  few  speeches  women  have  appeared 
at  the  door  to  the  right  and  have  remained  on  the  thresh- 
old, becoming  excited  by  the  conversation. 

A  Woman  [a<  the  door]      It  ain't  our  fault. 

Some  men  show  themselves  at  the  door  at  the  back. 

A  Man.     So  much  the  worse  for  you. 

Another  Woman.  We  've  got  to  live,  we  've  got  to 
live! 

Another  Man.     Ain't  we  got  to  live  too? 

Therese.     Well,  don't  drink  so  much. 

The  women  applaud  this  speech  with  enthusiasm. 

A  Woman  [bursting  out  laughing]     Ha  !     Ha  !     Ha ! 

Women.  Right,  Mademoiselle  !  Well  done  !  Good ! 
They  come  further  forward. 

Berthe.     You  won't  get  our  work  away  from  us. 

Deschaume.     It 's  our  work;  you  took  it. 

Berthe.     You  gave  it  up  to  us. 

A  Man.     Well,  we  '11  take  it  back  from  you. 

Another  Man.     We  were  wrong. 

Another  Man.     Drive  out  the  Hens. 

Another  Man.  The  strike !  Long  live  the  strike ! 
We  '11  come  out ! 

A  Woman.  We  '11  take  your  places ;  we  've  got  to 
live. 

A  Man.     There  's  no  living  for  you  here. 

A  Woman.     Yes  there  is ;  we  '11  take  yours. 

Therese.  Yes,  we  '11  take  yours.  And  your  wife 
that  you  brought  here  yourself  will  take  your  place, 
Vincent.  And  you  the  same,  Deschaume.  She  '11  take 
your  place,  and  it  '11  serve  you  right.  You  can  stay 
at  home  and  do  the  mending  to  amuse  yourself. 

GiRARD  [to  the  wom,en]  This  woman  from  Paris  is 
turning  the  heads  of  the  lot  of  you. 

Charpin.     Yes,  that 's  about  the  size  of  it. 


118  Woman  on  Her  Own      Act  III 

Vincent.  She  don't  play  the  game.  She  does  as 
she  bloomin'  well  likes.  She  would  n't  engage  my  old 
woman.     She  took  women  from  Duriot's. 

GiRARD  [to  Therese^  That 's  it.  It 's  you  that 's  do- 
ing it.  [To  the  zvomen]  You've  got  to  ask  the  same 
wages  as  us. 

Therese.     You  know  very  well  — 

GiRARD  [interrupting^  It 's  all  along  of  your 
damned  Union. 

Vincent.     There  was  n't  any  ructions  till  you  come. 

Charpin.     We  '11  smash  the  Hens'  Union. 
A  row  begins  and  increases. 

A  Man.  Put  'em  through  it !  Down  'em !  Smash 
the  Hens  !    Smash  'em  ! 

A  Woman.     Turn  out  the  lazy  swines ! 

A  Woman  [half  mad  with  excitement]  We  're  fight- 
in'  for  our  kids.  [She  shrieks  this  phrase  continuously 
during  the  noise  which  follows] 

Berthe.     Turn  out  the  lazy  swines ! 

Deschaume  [shaking  his  wife]  Shut  up,  blast  you, 
shut  up ! 

Another  Man  [holding  him  back]      Don't  strike  her! 

Deschaume.  It's  my  wife;  can't  I  do  as  I  like? 
[To  Berthe]      Get  out,  you  ! 

Berthe.     I  won't! 

Deschaume  tries  to  seize  hold  of  his  wife;  this  starts 
a  general  fight  between  the  men  and  women,  during 
which  one  distinguishes  various  cries,  finally  a  man's 
voice. 

A  Man.     Damn  her,  she  's  hurt  me ! 

Another  Man.  It 's  her  scissors !  Get  hold  of  her 
scissors. 

Berthe  screams. 

Therese.  They'll  kill  one  another!  [To  the 
women]  Go  home,  go  home;  they'll  kill  you.  Go 
home  at  once. 


Act  III      Woman  on  Her  Own  119 

The  women  are  suddenly  taken  with  a  panic;  they 
scream  and  run  away,  followed  by  the  men. 

A  Woman,     Oh,  you  brutes !     Oh,  you  brutes  ! 

Therese  goes  out  to  the  right  zvith  the  women.  The 
men  go  off  with  Deschaume,  whose  hand  is  bleeding. 
Girard,  who  xvas  following  them,  meets  Monsieur  Feliat 
at  the  door. 

Girard  [to  Feliat]     Deschaume  's  bin  hurt,  sir. 

Feliat.     He  must  be  taken  to  the  Infirmary. 

Deschaume  [excitedly]  With  her  scissors  she  did 
it,  blast  'er ! 

Charpin.     The  police,  send  for  the  police ! 

Girard.  Don't  be  a  bally  fool.  We  can  take  care 
of  ourselves,  can't  we,  without  the  bloomin'  coppers. 

Deschaume  [shouting]  The  police,  send  for  the 
police !     To  protect  the  right  to  work.     Send   for  'em. 

Girard  [to  Monsieur  Feliat]  If  'twas  to  bully  us, 
you  'd  have  sent  for  'em  long  ago.  What  are  you  waiting 
for.? 

Feliat.  I  'm  waiting  till  you  kindly  allow  me  to 
speak.  I  can't  believe  my  ears.  Is  it  you,  Girard, 
and  you,  Deschaume,  who  want  to  have  the  police  sent 
for  to  save  you  from  a  pack  of  women  ?     Ha  !     Ha ! 

Charpin.     Oh,  it  makes  you  laugh,  does  it? 

Girard.  You  defend  the  cats  because  they  're  against 
us.     Well,  we  won't  have  it.     Duriot's  men  came  out  — 

Charpin.     Yes,  and  we  '11  do  the  same. 

Deschaume.     We  will.     Look  out  for  the  strike! 

Girard.     We  're  agreed ;    ain't  we,  mates  } 

Charpin  and  Deschaume  [together]  Yes,  yes. 
We  '11   strike.     Let 's   strike. 

Feliat.  You  don't  really  mean  that  you  're  going 
on  strike? 

Girard.     Don't  we,  though  ! 

Feliat.  How  can  you?  I  've  given  everything 
you  've  asked  for. 


120  Woman  on  Her  Own      Act  III 

Charpin   [growling']      That 's  just  the  reason. 

GiRARD.  If  you  've  given  in,  that  shows  we  were 
right.     You  '11  have  to  give  in  some  more. 

Feliat.     Good  God,  what  d'  you  want  now  } 

Charpin.     We  want  you  to  sack  all  the  women. 

Deschaume.  No  we  don't.  We  want  you  to  sack 
Mademoiselle  Therese. 

Feliat.  You  're  mad !  What  harm  has  she  done 
you? 

GiRARD.  The  harm  she  's  done  us  ?  Well,  she  's  on 
your  side. 

Deschaume.  She 's  turned  the  women's  heads. 
They  want  to  take  our  places. 

Charpin.     And  we  won't  have  it. 

Feliat.  Come !  Be  reasonable.  You  can't  ask  me 
that. 

GiRARD.     We  do  ask  you  that. 

Feliat.     It  will  upset  my  whole  business. 

Charpin.     What 's  that  to  us  ? 

Feliat.     Well,  I  must  have  time  to  think  about  it. 

GiRARD.  There  's  nothing  to  think  about.  Sack  the 
Paris  woman  or  we  go  on  strike. 

Feliat.  You  can't  put  a  pistol  to  my  head  like  this. 
I  *ve  got  orders  in  hand. 

GiRARD.     What 's  that  to  us  ? 

Feliat.  Well  then,  I  won't  give  in  this  time.  You 
demanded  that  I  should  not  open  a  new  workshop.  I 
gave  in.     I  won't  go  further  than  that. 

GiRARD.     Then  out  we  go. 

Feliat.  Well  go,  and  be  damned  to  you.  [Pause] 
The  women  will  take  your  places. 

GiRARD.  You  think  so,  do  you  ?  You  think  it 's  as 
easy  as  that.  Well,  try.  Just  you  try  to  fill  up  our 
places.  Have  you  forgot  there 's  two  delegates  here 
from  the  Central  Committee.'*  A  phone  to  Paris  and 
your  bally  show  is  done  for. 


Act  III      Woman  on  Her  Own  121 

Feliat.      It  's  damnable. 

GiRARD.  And  if  that  does  n't  choke  you  off,  there  's 
other  things. 

Charpin.  We  '11  set  the  whole  bloomin'  place  on 
fire. 

GiRARD.     Don't  you  try  to  bully  us. 

Feliat.  Well,  look  here.  We  v/on't  quarrel.  I  '11 
send  away  Mademoiselle  Therese.  But  give  me  a  little 
time  to  settle  things  up. 

Charpin.     No;  out  she  goes. 

Feliat.     Give  me  a  month.     I  ask  only  a  month. 

Girard.    An  hour,  that 's  all  you  '11  get,  an  hour. 

Charpin.     An  hour,  not  more. 

Girard.  We  're  going  off  to  meet  the  delegates  at 
the  Hotel  de  la  Poste;  you  can  send  your  answer  there. 
The  Parisian  goes  out  sharp  now,  or  else  look  out  for 
trouble.  Come  on,  boys,  let 's  go  and  tell  the  others. 
There  's  nothing  more  to  do  here. 

Feliat.     But  stop,  listen  — 

Charpin  [to  Feliat]  That 's  our  last  word.  [To 
the  others']      Hurry  on. 

The  workmen  go  out.  Therese  has  come  in  a  moment 
before  and  is  standing  on  the  threshold. 

Feliat   [to  Therese]     How  much  did  you  hear.^ 

Therese.  Oh,  please,  please,  don't  give  in.  Don't 
abandon  these  women.  It 's  dreadful  in  the  workroom. 
They  're  in  despair.  I  've  just  been  with  them,  talking 
to  them.  They  get  desperate  when  they  think  of  their 
children. 

Feliat.  The  men  are  not  asking  me  now  to  get  rid 
of  them.  What  they  're  asking  for  is  the  break-up  of 
your  Union,  and  that  you  yourself  should  go. 

Therese.  Oh,  they  say  that  now.  But  if  you  give 
in,  they  '11  see  that  they  can  get  anything  they  like 
from  your  weakness,  and  they  '11  make  you  turn  out 
all  these  wretched  women. 


122  Woman  on  Her  Own       Act  III 

Feliat.  But  I  can't  help  myself !  You  did  n't  hear 
the  brutal  threats  of  these  men.  If  I  don't  give  in,  I 
shall  be  blacklisted,  and  they  '11  set  the  place  on  fire ; 
they  said  so.  Where  will  your  women's  work  be  then? 
And  I  shall  be  ruined. 

Therese.  Then  you  mean  to  give  in  without  a 
struggle  ? 

Feliat.  Would  you  like  to  take  the  responsibil- 
ity for  what  will  happen  if  I  resist.''  There'll  be 
violence.  Just  think  what  it  '11  mean.  In  the  state 
the  men  are  in  anything  may  happen.  There 's  a 
wounded  man  already.  How  many  would  there  be  to- 
morrow .'' 

Therese.  You  think  only  of  being  beaten.  But  sup- 
pose you  win?  Suppose  you  act  energetically  and  get 
the  best  of  it. 

Feliat.     My  energy  would  be  my  ruin. 

Therese  [with  a  change  of  tone]  Then  you  wish  me 
to  go? 

Feliat.  I  have  only  made  up  my  mind  to  it  to  pre- 
vent something  worse. 

Therese  [very  much  moved]  It 's  impossible  you 
can  sacrifice  me  in  this  way  at  the  first  threat.  Look 
here.  Monsieur  Feliat;  perhaps  it  doesn't  come  very 
well  from  me,  but  I  can't  help  reminding  you  that 
you  've  said  repeatedly  yourself  that  I  've  been  ex- 
tremely useful  to  you.  Don't  throw  me  overboard  with- 
out making  one  try  to  save  me. 

Feliat.     It  would  be  no  use. 

Therese.  How  can  you  tell  ?  It 's  your  own  in- 
terest to  keep  me.  The  delegate  said  that  if  I  go 
they  '11  break  up  the  Women's  Union  and  make  the 
women  take  the  same  wages  as  the  men. 

Feliat.  They  won't  do  that  because  they  know  I 
would  n't  keep  them. 

Therese.     You  see !     If  you  give  in,  it  means   the 


Act  III      Woman  on  Her  Own  123 

break-up  of  the  whole  thing  and  the  loss  to  you  of  the 
saving  I  've  made  for  you.  And  you  have  obligations 
to  these  women  who  have  been  working  for  you  for 
years. 

Feliat.  If  I  have  to  part  with  them,  I  will  see  they 
are  provided  for. 

Therese.  Yes,  for  a  day  —  a  week,  perhaps.  But 
afterwards."*  What  then.''  Little  children  will  be 
holding  out  their  hands  for  food  to  mothers  who  have 
none  to  give  them. 

Feliat.  But,  good  God,  what  have  /  to  do  with 
that.^  Is  it  my  fault?  Don't  you  see  that  I'm  quite 
powerless  in  the  matter.^ 

Therese.  No,  you  're  not  quite  powerless.  You  can 
choose  which  you  will  sacrifice,  the  women  who  have 
been  perfectly  loyal  to  you,  or  the  men  who  want  to 
wring  from  your  weakness  freedom  from  competition 
which  frightens  them. 

Feliat.     They  're  fighting  for  their  daily  bread. 

Therese.  Yes,  fighting  the  woman  because  she  works 
for  lower  wages.  She  can  do  that  because  she  is  sober 
and  self-controlled.  Is  it  because  of  her  virtues  that 
you  condemn  her.^ 

Feliat.  I  know  all  that  as  well  as  you  do,  and  I 
tell  you  again  the  women  can  go  on  working  just  as 
they  were  working  before  you  came. 

Therese.     You  '11  be  made  to  part  with  them. 

Feliat.  We  shall  see.  But  at  present  that 's  not 
the  question.  The  present  thing  is  about  you.  One 
of  us  has  to  be  sacrificed,  you  or  me.  I  can  see  only 
one  thing.  If  I  stick  to  you,  my  machinery  will  be 
smashed  and  my  works  will  be  burned.  I  'm  deeply 
sorry  this  has  happened,  and  I  don't  deny  for  a  mo- 
ment the  great  value  of  your  services ;  but,  after  all,  I 
can't  ruin  m^^self  for  your  sake. 

Therese    [urgently]     But  you  would  n't  be   ruined. 


124  Woman  on  Her  Own      Act  III 

Defend   yourself,   take   measures.     Ask    for   assistance 
from  the  Government. 

Feliat.     The  Government  can't   prevent  the  strike. 

Therese.     But  the  women  will  do  the  work. 

Feliat.  You  think  of  nothing  but  your  women. 
And  the  men  ?  They  '11  be  starving,  won't  they  ?  And 
their  women  and  their  children  will  starve  with  them. 

Therese  [almost  in  tears^  And  me,  you  have  no 
pity  for  me.  What's  to  become  of  me?  If  you 
abandon  me,  I  'm  done  for.  I  'd  made  a  career  for 
myself.  I  had  realized  my  dreams.  I  was  doing  a 
little  good.  And  I  was  so  deeply  grateful  to  you  for 
giving  me  my  chance.  I  'm  all  alone  in  the  world,  you 
know  that  very  well.  Before  I  came  here  I  tried  every 
possible  way  to  earn  my  living.  Oh,  please  don't  send 
me  away.  Don't  drive  me  back  into  that.  Try  once 
again,  do  something.  Let  me  speak  to  the  men.  It 's 
all  my  life  that 's  at  stake.  If  you  drive  me  out,  I  don't 
know  where  to  go  to. 

Monsieur  Gueret  comes  in. 

GuERET  [greatly  excited^  Feliat,  we  must  n't  wait 
a  moment ;  we  must  give  in  at  once.  They  're  exciting 
themselves;  they're  mad;  they're  getting  worse;  they 
may  do  anything.  They  've  gone  to  the  women's  work- 
room and  they  're  driving  them  out. 

From  the  adjoining  workshop  there  comes  a  crash  of 
glass  and  the  sound  of  xoomen  screaming. 

Therese  [desperately^  Go,  Monsieur!  Go  quickly  ! 
Don't  let  anything  dreadful  happen.  You  're  right. 
I  '11  leave  at  once.     Go  ! 

Monsieur  Gueret  and  Monsieur  Feliat  rush  into  the 
women's  workshop.  The  noise  increases;  there  is  a 
sound  of  furniture  overthrown  and  the  loud  screams  of 
women. 

TuERhsE  [alone,  clasping  her  hands]  Oh,  God !  Oh, 
God! 


Act  III      Woman  on  Her  Own  125 

Therese  stands  as  if  hypnotized  by  terror,  her  eyes 
wide  open  and  fixed  upon  the  door  of  the  workshop. 
The  noise  still  increases;  there  is  a  revolver  shot,  then  a 
silence.  Finally  the  voice  of  Monsieur  Feliat  is  heard 
speaking,  though  the  words  are  not  intelligible,  and  a 
shout  of  men's  voices.  Then  Monsieur  Gueret  comes  in 
very  pale. 

Gueret.  Don't  be  frightened,  it 's  all  over.  The 
shot  was  fired  in  the  air.  The  men  have  gone  out; 
there  are  only  the  women  now  —  crying  in  the  work- 
shop. 

Therese.  Are  you  sure  nobody  is  killed?  Is  it 
true,  oh,  tell  me,  is  it  really  true  ? 

Monsieur  Feliat  comes  in. 

Feliat.    Poor  Therese  !    Don't  be  frightened. 

Therese.  Oh,  those  screams !  Those  dreadful 
screams !     Is  it  true,  really,  nobody  was  hurt  ? 

Feliat.     Nobody,  I  assure  you. 

Therese.     The  shot.'' 

Feliat.  Fired  in  the  air,  to  frighten  the  women. 
The  men  broke  in  the  door,  and  upset  a  bench,  and 
made  a  great  row.  I  got  there  just  in  time.  As  soon 
as  they  were  promised  what  they  want  they  were 
quiet. 

Therese  [after  a  pause,  slowly}  They  were 
promised  what  they  want.  So  it  's  done.  [A  silence} 
Then  there  's  nothing  left  for  me  but  to  go. 

Gueret.    Where  are  you  going  to? 

Feliat.     You  need  n't  go  at  once. 

Therese.  Yes,  I  'm  going  at  once.  [A  silencel 
I  'm  going  where  I  'm  forced  to  go. 

Feliat.     You  can  leave  to-morrow  or  the  day  after. 

Therese.  No,  I  leave  by  train,  this  evening,  for 
Paris. 

curtain. 


FALSE    GODS 


CHARACTERS 

The  Pharaoh 

The  High  Priest 

Rheou 

Satni 

Pakh 

SOKITI 

BiTioUj  the  dwarf 

NOURM 

The  Steward 

The  Exorcist 

A  Priest 

The  Paralyzed  Youth 

The  Man  with  the  Bandaged  Head 

The  Two  Sons  of  the  Mad  Woman 

MiERIS 

Yaouma 

KiRJIPA 

Zaya 

Delethi 

Nagaou 
Hanou 

Nahasi 

SiTSINIT 
MOUENE 

Nazit 

The  Young  Woman 
The  Mother 
The  Blind  Girl 
Five  Mourners 

The  Scene  is  laid  in  Upper  Egypt  during  the  Middle 
Empire. 


ACT    I 

Scene  :  —  The  first  inner  court  of  the  house  of  Rheou. 
At  the  back  between  two  lofty  pylons  the  entrance  lead- 
ing up  from  below.  Through  the  columns  supporting 
the  hanging  garden  which  stretches  across  the  back  can 
be  seen  the  Nile.  A  high  terrace  occupies  the  left  of  the 
scene.  Steps  lead  up  to  it,  and  from  there  to  the  hang- 
ing garden.  Along  the  side  of  the  terrace  a  small  deli- 
cately carved  wooden  statue  of  Isis  stands  on  a  sacri- 
ficial table.  On  the  right  is  the  peristyle  leading  to 
the  inner  dwelling  of  Akhounti.  The  bases  of  the  col- 
umns are  in  the  form  of  lotus  buds,  the  shafts  like  lotus 
stems,  the  capitals  full  blown  flowers.  In  the  spaces 
between  the  columns  are  wooden  statues  of  the  gods. 

Delethi  is  playing  a  harp.  Nagaou  dances  before  her. 
Nahasi  is  juggling  with  oranges,  while  Mouene  sits 
watching  a  little  bird  in  a  cage.  Yaouma  reclines  on  the 
terrace  supporting  her  head  on  her  elbows  and  gazing 
out  at  the  Nile.  Zaya  is  beside  her.  On  a  carpet  Sit- 
sinit,  lying  flat  upon  her  stomach  with  a  writing  box  by 
her  side,  is  busy  painting  an  ibis  on  the  left  hand  of 
Hanou,  who  lies  in  a  similar  attitude. 

SiTsi.  Did  you  not  know?  She,  on  whose  left  hand 
a  black  ibis  has  been  painted,  is  certain  of  a  happy  day. 

Hanou.  A  happy  day !  Why  then,  't  is  I,  perhaps, 
who  will  be  chosen  to-night ! 

Delethi  [playing  the  harp  while  Nagaou  dances  be- 
fore her^  More  slowly !  —  more  slowly  !  .  .  .  you  must 
make  them  think  of  the  swaying  of  a  lotus  flower,  that 

129 


130  False  Gods  Act  I 

the  Nile's  slow-moving  current  would  bear  away,  and 
that  raises  itself  to  kiss  again  the  waters  of  the  stream. 

Nagaou.     Yes,  yes.  .  .  .     Begin  again ! 

Nahasi  [juggling  with  oranges]  Nagaou  would  let 
herself  be  borne  away  without  a  struggle.     [She  laughs]. 

MouENE  [hopping  on  one  foot]  We  know  that  she 
goes  to  the  bank  of  the  Nile,  at  the  hour  when  the  palm- 
trees  grow  black  against  the  evening  sky,  to  listen  to 
a  basket  maker's  songs. 

Hanou  [to  Sitsinit]  And  this  morning  I  anointed  my 
whole  body  with  Kyphli,  mixed  with  cinnamon  and  terra- 
bine  and  myrrh. 

Delethi  [to  Nagaou]  'T  is  well  .  .  .  you  may 
dance  the  great  prayer  to  Isis  with  the  rest. 

Nagaou  [to  Mouene]  Yes  !  I  do  go  to  listen  to  songs 
at  dark.  You  are  still  too  little  for  anyone,  basket 
maker  or  any  other,  to  take  notice  of  you. 

Mouene.  You  think  so!  .  .  .  who  gave  me  this  little 
bird.^  [She  draws  the  bird  from  the  cage  by  a  string 
attached  to  its  leg]  Who  caught  thee,  flower-of-the-air, 
who  gave  thee  to  me?  [Holding  up  a  finger]  Do  not 
tell !    Do  not  tell.  .  .  . 

Hanou  [looking  at  herself  in  a  metal  mirror]  Sitsinit 
.  .  .  the  black  line  that  lengthens  this  eye  is  too  short 
.  .  .  make  it  longer  with  your  reed.  I  think  the  more 
beautiful  I  am,  the  more  chance  I  shall  have  to  be  chosen 
for  the  sacrifice.  ...  Is  it  not  so,  Zaya  ?  .  .  .  What  are 
you  doing  there  without  a  word? 

Zaya.  I  was  watching  the  flight  of  a  crane  with 
hanging  feet,  that  melted  away  in  the  distant  blue  of 
heaven.  .  .  .  Do  not  hope  to  be  chosen  by  the  gods, 
Hanou. 

Hanou.     Wherefore  should  I  not  be  chosen? 

Zaya.  Neither  you  nor  any  who  are  here.  The  gods 
never  demand  the  sacrifice  two  years  together  from  the 
same  village. 


Act  I  False  Gods  131 

Hanou.     Never? 

Zava.     Rarely. 

Hanou.     'T  is  a  pity.     Is  it  not,  Nagaou.'* 

Nagaou.     I  know  not. 

SiTsi.     Would  it  not  make  you  proud? 

Nagaou.  Yes.  But  it  makes  me  proud,  too,  to  lean 
on  the  breast  of  him  whose  words  still  the  beating  of 
my  heart. 

Delethi.     To  be  taken  by  a  god !     By  the  Nile  ! 

Hanou.     Preferred  to  all  the  others  ! 

MouENE  [the  youngest]  For  my  part  I  should  prefer 
to  live.  .  .  . 

SiTSi.     Still,   if  the   God  desired  you.  .  .  . 

Zaya.     Oh !    one  can  refuse.  .  .  . 

Delethi.  Yes,  but  one  must  leave  the  country,  then. 
.  .  .  None  of  the  daughters  of  Haka-Phtah  could  bring 
themselves  to  that. 

A  pause. 

Yaouma  [to  herself]     Perhaps  ! 

Nahasi,     What  do  you  say,  Yaouma? 

Yaouma.     Nothing.     I  was  speaking  to  my  soul. 

MouENE.  Yaouma's  eyes  weep  for  weariness  because 
they  watch  far  off  for  him,  who  comes  not. 

Yaouma.     Peace,  child. 

Zaya  [to  Delethi]  One  thing  is  certain,  someone  must 
go  upon  the  sacred  barge? 

Delethi.  Without  the  sacrifice  the  Nile  would  not 
overflow,  and  all  the  land  would  remain  barren. 

Hanou.  And  the  corn  would  not  sprout,  nor  the 
beans,  nor  the  maize,  nor  the  lotus. 

Delethi.  And  all  the  people  would  perish  miser- 
ably. 

Hanou.  So  that  she  who  dies,  sacrificed  to  the  Nile, 
saves  the  lives  of  a  whole  people.  That  is  a  better  thing, 
Nagaou,  than  to  make  one  man's  happiness. 

A  pause. 


132  False  Gods  Act  I 

Yaouma  [to  herself]     Perhaps. 

Hanou.  And  on  the  appointed  day  one  is  borne  from 
the  house  of  the  god  to  the  Nile,  surrounded  by  all  the 
dwellers  in  the  town.  .  .  .  The  Pharaoh  —  health  and 
strength  be  unto  him !  .  .  . 

Delethi.  You  do  not  know,  Hanou,  you  tell  us  what 
you  do  not  know. 

Hanou.  But  it  is  so,  is  it  not,  Zaya?  Zaya  knows 
about  the  ceremony,  because  last  year  it  was  her  sister 
who  was  chosen. 

MouENE.     Tell  us,  Zaya. 

Nahasi.     Yes,  tell  us  the  manner  of  it. 

Zaya.     On  the  fifth  day  of  the  month  of  Paophi.  .  .  . 

MouENE.     To-day  —  that  is  to-day.'' 

Nahasi.     Yes.     What  will  happen.  .  .  .  The  prayer 
of  Isis.  .  .  .  But  afterwards?     Before? 
They  gather  round  Zaya. 

Zaya.  Before  the  sun  has  ended  his  day's  journey, 
the  people,  summoned  to  the  terraces  by  a  call  from  the 
Temple,  will  intone  the  great  hymn  to  Isis,  which  is  sung 
but  once  a  year.  Within  the  house  of  the  god  the  as- 
sembled priests  will  await  the  sign  that  shall  reveal  the 
virgin  to  be  offered  to  the  Nile  to  obtain  its  yearly  flood. 
The  name  of  the  chosen  will  be  cried  from  the  doorway 
on  high,  caught  up  by  those  who  hear  it  first,  cried  out 
to  others,  who  in  turn  will  cry  it  running  towards  the 
house  that  Ammon  has  favored  with  his  choice.  Then 
shall  the  happy  victim  of  the  year  stand  forth  alone, 
amid  her  kinsfolk  bowed  before  her,  and  to  her  ears 
shall  rise  the  shoutings  of  the  multitude. 

All.     Oh ! 

Delethi.  And  after  a  month  of  purification  she  will 
be  borne  to  the  house  of  the  god ! 

Zaya.     And  on  the  day  of  Prodigies  .  .  . 

Nahasi.     Oh,  the  day  of  Prodigies  ! 

Zaya.     She  will  be  the  foremost  nearer  to  the  Sanctu- 


Act  I  False  Gods  133 

ary  than  all  the  rest.  She  will  pray  with  the  praying 
crowd,  she  will  behold  the  lowering  of  the  stone  that 
hides  the  face  of  Isis.  .  .  . 

Delethi.     She  will  behold  Isis  —  face  to  face.  .  .  . 

All.     Oh ! 

Zaya.  She  will  beg  the  goddess  graciously  to  incline 
her  head,  in  sign  that,  yet  another  year,  Egypt  shall  be 
protected.  And  when  the  fervor  of  the  crowd's  united 
prayer  is  great  enough,  the  head  of  the  Goddess  of  Stone 
will  bow.     That  will  be  the  first  prodigy. 

Delethi.  The  head  of  the  Goddess  of  Stone  will 
bow  —  that  will  be  the  first  prodigy. 

Zaya.  And  in  the  crowd  there  will  be  blind  who  shall 
see,  and  deaf  who  shall  hear,  and  dumb  who  shall  speak. 

Delethi.  Perhaps  Mieris,  our  good  mistress,  will 
be  cured  of  her  blindness  at  last. 

Hanou.  And  when  she  who  is  chosen  goes  forth 
from  the  house  of  the  God.  .  .  .  Tell  us,  Zaya,  tell  us 
the  manner  of  her  going  forth. 

Zaya.  Three  days  before  the  appointed  day,  in  the 
town  and  throughout  the  land,  they  will  begin  the  prep- 
arations for  the  festival.  When  the  moment  comes,  the 
crowd  will  surge  before  the  temple,  guarded  by  Lybian 
soldiers.  And  she,  she,  the  elect,  the  saviour,  will  come 
forth,  ringed  by  the  high  priests  of  Ammon  in  purple 
and  in  gold,  and  aloft  on  a  chariot  where  perfumes  burn, 
deafened  by  sound  of  trumpet  and  cries  of  joy,  she  will 
behold  the  people  stretch  unnumbered  arms  to  her.  .  .  . 

All.     Oh ! 

Delethi.     And  she  will  be  borne  to  the  Nile.  .  .  . 

Zaya.  And  she  will  be  borne  to  the  Nile.  She  will 
board  the  barge  of  Ammon.  .  .  . 

Delethi.  And  the  barge  will  glide  from  the 
bank.  .  .  . 

Zaya.  And  the  barge  will  glide  from  the  bank  where 
all  the  crowd  will  bow  their  faces  to  the  dust.      [She 


134  False  Gods  Act  I 

stops,  greatly  moved]     And  when  the  barge  returns  she 
will  be  gone. 

All  [in  low  tones]  And  when  the  barge  returns  she 
will  be  gone. 

Zaya.  And  after  two  days  the  waters  of  the  Nile  will 
rise. 

All.     The  waters  of  the  Nile  will  rise.  .  .  . 

Delethi.  And  as  far  as  the  waters  flow  they  will 
speak  her  name,  who  made  the  sacrifice,  with  blessings 
and  with  tears. 

Hanou.     If  it  were  I !  .  .  . 

All  [save  Yaouma]     If  it  were  I !  .  .  . 
Yaouma  rises  to  a  sitting  posture, 

Zaya.     If  it  were  you,  Yaouma.'' 

Yaouma.     Perhaps  I  should  refuse. 

All.     Oh ! 

MouENE  [mischievously]     I  know  why  !    I  know  why  ! 

Delethi.     We  know  why. 

Zaya.     Tell  us.  .  .  . 

Yaouma.     Tell  them.  .  .  . 

Delethi.  'T  is  the  same  reason  that  has  held  you 
there  this  many  a  day. 

Yaouma.     Yes. 

Mouene.  She  watches  for  the  coming  of  the  galley 
with  twenty  oars,  bearing  the  travellers  from  the  North. 
There  is  a  young  priest  among  them,  the  potter's 
son. 

Delethi.  A  young  priest,  the  potter's  son,  who  went 
away  two  years  ago. 

Yaouma.     He  is  my  betrothed. 

Nahasi.     But  you  know  what  they  say? 

Zaya.  They  say  that  on  the  same  boat  there  comes 
a  scribe  who  preaches  of  new  gods.  .  .   . 

Yaouma.     I  know. 

Delethi.     Of  false  gods. 

Mouene.     The  priests  will  stop  the  boat,  and  eight 


Act  I  False  Gods  135 

days  hence,  perhaps,  Yaouma  will  still  be  awaiting  her 
betrothed. 

Yaouma.     I  shall  wait. 

The  Steward  enters  and  whispers  to  Delethi. 

Delethi.  The  mistress  sends  word  the  hour  is  come 
to  go  indoors. 

They  go  out  L,  Sitsinit  picking  up  the  writing  box, 
Nahasi  juggling  with  oranges,  Mouene  carrying  her 
cage  and  dancing  about,  Delethi  plays  her  harp  singing 
with  Hanou  and  Nagaou. 

Black  is  the  hair  of  my  love, 

More  black  than  the  brows  of  the  night. 

Than  the  fruit  of  the  plum  tree. 

The  Steward,  who  had  gone  out,  returns  at  once,  whip 
in  hand,  followed  by  a  poor  old  man,  half  naked,  and 
covered  with  mud,  who  carries  a  hod. 

Steward  [stopping  before  the  statue  of  Thoueris^ 
There.  Draw  near,  potter,  and  look.  By  some  mis- 
chance, the  horn  and  the  plume  of  Goddess  Thoueris 
have  been  broken.  The  master  must  not  see  them  when 
he  comes  back  for  the  feast  of  the  Nomination.  There 
is  the  horn  —  there  is  the  plume.     Replace  them. 

Pakh  [with  terror]  I  —  must  I  .  .  .  to-day  when 
my  son  is  coming  home.'' 

Steward.     Are  you  not  our  servant? 

Pakh.     I  am. 

Steward.     And  a  potter? 

Pakh.     I  am. 

Steward.  Did  you  not  say  you  knew  how  to  do 
what  I  ask? 

Pakh.  I  did  not  know  that  I  must  lay  hands  on  the 
Goddess  Thoueris. 

Steward.     Obey, 

Pakh  [throwing  himself  on  his  knees]  I  pray  you! 
I  pray  you  ...     I  should  never  dare.     And  then  .  .  . 


136  False  Gods  Act  I 

my  son  .  .  .  my  son  who  is  coming  back  from  a  long, 
long  journey  .   .  . 

Steward.  You  shall  have  twenty  blows  of  the 
stick  for  having  tired  my  tongue.  If  you  refuse  to  obey 
me  you  shall  have  two  hundred. 

Pakh.     I  pray  you. 

Steward.     Bid  Sokiti  help  you. 

He  goes  out  at  the  hack;  as  he  passes  he  gives  Sokiti 
a  blow  with  his  whip,  making  a  sign  to  him  to  go  and 
"oin  Pakh. 

Sokiti  obeys  without  manifesting  sorrow  or  surprise. 

Pakh.    He  says  we  must  lift  down  the  Goddess. 

Sokiti.     I  ^ 

Pakh.     You  and  I. 

Sokiti  [beginning  to  tremble.  After  a  paused  I  am 
afraid. 

Pakh.     I  too  —  I  am  afraid. 

Sokiti.     If  you  touch  her  you  die. 

Pakh.     You  will  die  of  the  stick  if  you  do  not  obey. 

Sokiti.  Why  cannot  they  leave  me  at  my  work.  I 
was  happy. 

Pakh.  We  must  —  we  must  tell  her  that  it  is  in 
order  to  repair  her  crown. 

Sokiti.     Yes.     We  must  let  her  know. 

They  prostrate  themselves  before  the  goddess. 

Pakh.  Oh,  Mighty  One !  —  thou  who  hast  given 
birth  to  the  gods,  pardon  if  our  miserable  hands  dare 
to  touch  thee !  Thy  horn  and  thy  right  plume  have 
fallen  off.     'T  is  to  replace  them. 

Sokiti.  We  are  forced  to  obey  —  O  breath  divine  — 
creator  of  the  universe.   .   .   .   It  is  to  mend  thee. 

Pakh  \^rising,  to  Sokiti]     Come  ! 

Bitiou,  the  dwarf,  enters;  he  is  a  poor  deformed  crea- 
ture. When  he  sees  Pakh  and  Sokiti  touching  the  statue, 
he  tries  to  run  away.  He  falls,  picks  himself  up,  and 
hides  in  a  corner.     By  degrees  he  watches  and  draws 


Act  I  False  Gods  137 

near  during  what  follows.     Pakh  and  Sokiti  take  the 
statue  from  its  pedestal  and  set  it  upright  on  the  ground. 

Sokiti.     She  has  not  said  anything. 

Pakh.     She  must  be  laid  on  her  belly. 

Sokiti.     Gently.  .  .  . 

They  lay  her  flat. 

Pakh  [giving  him  the  horn]  Hold  that.  [He  goes 
to  his  hod,  takes  a  handful  of  cement,  and  proceeds  to 
mend  the  statue]  Here  .  .  .  the  plume  .  .  .  so  ,  .  . 
there  ...  we  must  let  her  dry.  In  the  meantime  let  us 
go  look  upon  the  Nile;  we  may  see  the  boat  that  brings 
my  son. 

Sokiti.     You  will  not  see  him. 

Pakh.     I  shall  not  see  him.'' 

Sokiti.     He  is  a  priest. 

Pakh.     Not  yet. 

Sokiti.  But  he  was  brought  up  in  the  temple  .  .  . 
't  is  to  the  temple  he  will  go. 

Pakh.  He  will  come  here  .  .  .  because  he  would 
see  his  father  and  mother  once  more. 

Sokiti.     And  Yaouma  his  betrothed. 

Pakh.     And  Yaouma  his  betrothed. 

He  goes  R.  Bitiou  approaches  the  statue  timidly,  and 
stops  some  way  off. 

Sokiti.     There  is  nothing  in  siglit. 

Pakh.     No,  .  .  .   [suddenly]    You  saw  the  crocodile .'' 

Sokiti.  Yes.  .  .  .  There  is  a  woman  going  to  the 
Nile  with  her  pitcher  on  her  head. 

Pakh.  That  is  my  wife,  that  is  Kirjipa,  that  is  mine. 
She  seeks  with  her  eyes  the  boat  that  bears  her  son  — 
Satni. 

Sokiti.     She  is  going  into  the  stream. 

Pakh.     How  else  can  she  draw  clear  water? 

Sokiti.  But  at  the  very  spot  where  the  crocodile 
plunged. 

Pakh.     What  matter?     She  wears  the  feather  of  an 


138  False  Gods  Act  I 

ibis  .  .  .  and  I  know  a  magic  spell.  [He  begins  to 
chant]  Back,  son  of  Sitou !  Dare  not!  Seize  not! 
Open  not  thy  jaws!  Let  the  water  become  a  sheet  of 
flame  before  thee !  The  spell  of  thirty-seven  gods  is  in 
thine  eye.  Thou  art  bound,  thou  art  bound !  Stay,  son 
of  Sitou !    Ammon,  spouse  of  thy  mother,  protect  her ! 

SoKiTi  [zvithout  surprise]     It  is  gone. 

Pakh  [without  surprise]     It  could  not  do  otherwise. 

Bitiou,  now  close  to  the  statue,  touches  it  furtively 
with  a  finger  tip,  then  runs,  falls,  and  picks  himself  up. 
He  comes  up  to  Pakh  and  Sokiti. 

SoKOTi  [pointing  to  the  statue]  She  is  dry  now, 
perhaps  ^ 

Pakh.     Yes,  come. 

SoKiTi.     I  am  afraid  still. 

Pakh.     So  am  I,  but  come  and  help  me. 

They  replace  the  statue  on  its  pedestal,  then  step  back 
to  look  at  it. 

SoKiTi.     She  has  done  us  no  harm. 

Pakh.     No. 

Sokiti.     Ha !   ha ! 

Pakh.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  [Bitiou  laughs  with  them. 
A  distant  sound  of  trumpets  is  heard.  Sokiti  and  Pakh 
go  to  the  terrace  to  look]  It  is  the  chief  of  the  Nome. 
They  are  bearing  him  to  the  city  of  the  dead.  At  this 
moment  his  soul  is  before  the  tribunal,  where  Osiris  sits 
with  the  two  and  forty  judges. 

Sokiti.  May  they  render  unto  him  all  the  evil  he 
has  done !  .  .  . 

Pakh.  The  evil  he  has  done  will  be  rendered  unto 
him  a  thousand  fold.  ...  He  will  pass  first  into  the 
lake  of  fire. 

Sokiti  [laughing]  Pakh!  Pakh!  picture  him  in 
Amenti  —  in  the  hidden  place  — 

Pakh.     I    see    him  ...  the    pivot    of    the    gate    of 


Act  I  False  Gods  139 

Amenti  set  upon  his  eye,  turns  upon  his  right  eye,  and 
turns  on  that  eye  whether  in  opening  or  in  shutting,  and 
his  mouth  utters  loud  cries. 

SoKiTi  [doubling  up  with  delightl  And  he  who  ate 
so  much !  .  .  .  He  who  ate  so  much !  He  will  have  his 
food,  bread  and  water,  hung  above  his  head,  and  he 
will  leap  to  get  it  down,  whilst  others  will  dig  holes 
beneath  his  feet  to  prevent  his  touching  it. 

Pakh.  Because  his  crimes  are  found  to  outnumber 
his  merits.  .  .  . 

SoKiTi.  And  we  —  we  —  say  —  what  will  happen  to 
us.'* 

Pakh.  We  shall  be  found  innocent  by  the  two  and 
forty  judges. 

SoKiTi.     And  after?  —  after? 

Pakh.  We  shall  go  to  the  island  of  the  souls  —  in 
Amenti  — 

SoKiTi.  Yes,  where  there  will  be  .  .  .  Speak.  What 
shall  we  have  in  the  island  of  the  souls? 

Pakh.     Baths  of  clear  water.  .  .  . 

SoKiTi  [with  loud  laughter}  What  else  .  .  .  what 
else? 

Pakh.  Ears  of  corn  of  two  arms'  length.  .  .  . 
[Laughing^. 

SoKiTi  [laughing]  Yes,  ears  of  corn,  of  two  arms' 
length. 

Pakh.     And  bread  of  maize,  and  beans.  .  .  . 

SoKiTi.  And  blows  of  the  stick  —  say,  will  there  be 
blows  of  the  stick? 

Pakh.     Never  again. 

SoKiTi.     Never  again.   ... 

Pakh.     I  shall  forget  all  I  have  endured, 

SoKiTi.  I  shall  be  famished;  and  I  shall  be  able  to 
eat  until  my  hunger  is  gone  .  .  .  every  day ! 

BiTiou.  And  I  —  I  shall  be  tall,  with  straight  strong 
legs,  like  the  rest  of  the  world. 


140  False  Gods  Act  I 

Pakh.  That  will  be  better  than  having  been  prince 
on  the  earth. 

They  laugh.     The  Steward  appears. 

Steward.  What  are  you  doing  there?  {^Strik- 
ing them  with  the  whip^    Your  mistress  comes  !    Begone  ! 

They  go  out. 

The  Steward  hows  low  before  Mieris  who  is  blind, 
and  who  enters  with  her  arms  full  of  flowers  and  led  by 
Yaouma. 

The  Steward  retires. 

Mieris  {^gently~\  Leave  me,  Yaouma  —  I  shall  be 
able  to  find  my  way  to  her,  alone. 

Yaouma.  Yes,  mistress.  .  .  .  [Nevertheless,  she  goes 
with  her  noiselessly^. 

Mieris  [smiling^  I  can  feel  you  do  not  obey.  Be 
not  afraid.  [She  has  come  as  far  as  the  little  statue  of 
Isis'\  You  see,  I  do  not  lose  my  way.  I  have  come  every 
day  to  bring  her  flowers,  a  long,  long  time.  .  .  .  Leave 
me. 

Yaouma.     Yes,  mistress. 

She  withdraws. 

Mieris  [touching  the  statue  in  the  manner  of  the 
blitid]  Yes,  thou  art  Isis.  I  know  thy  face,  and  I  can 
guess  thy  smile.  [She  takes  some  of  the  flowers  which 
she  has  laid  beside  her  and  lays  them  one  by  one  on  the 
pedestal  of  the  statue]  Behold  my  daily  offering!  I 
know  this  for  a  white  lotus  flower.  It  is  for  thee.  I 
am  not  wrong,  this  one,  longer,  and  with  the  heavier 
scent,  is  the  pink  lotus.  It  is  for  thee.  And  here  are 
yet  two  more  of  these  sacred  flowers.  At  dawn,  they 
come  from  out  the  water,  little  by  little.  At  midday 
they  open  wide.  And  when  the  sun  sinks  they,  too,  hide 
themselves,  letting  the  waters  of  the  Nile  cover  them 
like  a  veil.  Men  say  they  are  fair  to  see.  Alas,  I  know 
not  the  beauty  of  the  gifts  I  bring!  Here  is  a  typha 
.  .  .  here  an  alisma ;   and  by  the  overpowering  perfume, 


Act  I  False  Gods  141 

this,  I  know,  is  the  acacia  flower.  I  have  had  them  tell 
me  how  the  light,  playing  through  the  filmy  petals,  tints 
them  with  color  sweet  unto  the  eyes.  May  the  sight 
gladden  thine !  I  know  not  the  beauty  of  the  gifts  I 
bring!  But  all  the  days  of  my  life,  a  suppliant  I  shall 
come,  and  weary  not  to  ply  thee  with  my  prayers,  until 
in  the  end  thou  absolve  me,  until  thou  grant  me  the  boon 
that  all  save  I  enjoy,  to  behold  the  rays  of  the  shining 
God,  of  Ammon-Ra,  the  Sun  divine.  O  Isis,  remember 
the  cruel  blow  that  did  befall  me !  I  had  a  little  child. 
Unto  him  sight  was  given,  and  when  he  first  could  speak, 
it  was  life's  sweetest  joy,  to  hear  him  tell  the  color  and 
the  form  of  things.  He  is  dead,  Isis  !  And  I  have  never 
seen  him  —  Take  thou  my  tears  and  my  prayer,  bid  this 
perpetual  night,  wherein  I  scarce  can  breathe,  to  cease 
—  And  if  thou  wilt  not,  deliver  me  to  death  —  She-who- 
loves-the-silence,  and  after  the  judgment  I  may  go  to 
Amenti,  and  find  my  well-beloved  child  —  find  him,  and 
there  at  last  behold  his  face.  Isis,  I  give  thee  all  these 
flowers.  [She  rises]  Come,  Yaouma.  [As  she  is  about 
to  go,  she  stops,  suddenly  radiant]  Stay  —  I  hear  — 
yes !  Go,  bring  the  ewer  and  the  lustral  water.  It  is 
the  master  —  He  is  here. 
Yaouma  goes  out,  but  returns  quickly.  Enter  Rheou. 

MiERis.     Be  welcome  unto  your  house,  master ! 

Yaouma  pours  water  over  the  hands  of  Rheou  and 
gives  him  a  towel. 

Rheou.  Gladly  I  greet  you  once  more  in  your  house, 
mistress  !  [Pahh  appears,  returning  to  look  for  his  hod] 
[To  Pakh]  Well!  potter,  do  you  not  go  to  meet  your 
son? 

Pakh.  I  would  fain  go,  master,  but  I  looked  upon 
the  Nile  a  while  ago;   there  is  nothing  in  sight. 

Rheou.  The  galley  came  last  night  at  dusk,  and, 
by  order  of  the  priests,  was  kept  at  the  bend  of  the 
river  till  now.     Go  ! 


142  False  Gods  Act  I 

Pakh.     I  thank  you,  master. 

He  goes  out. 

Rheou.  Is  all  made  ready  for  the  solemn  prayer 
to  Isis  ?     The  sun  is  nearing  the  horizon. 

MiERis.     Yaouma,  go  and  warn  them  all. 

Yaouma  [kneeling  in  supplication]     Mistress  — 

MiERis  [laying  her  hand  on  Yaouma's  head]  What 
is  it.^ 

Yaouma.     The  galley. 

MiERis.  Well  ?  —  Ah,  yes  !  you  were  betrothed  to 
the  potter's  son  —  But  to-day  you  must  not  go  forth. 
Who  shall  say  you  are  not  she  whom  the  God  Ammon 
will  choose? 

Yaouma.     The  God  Ammon  knows  not  me. 

MiERis.     Did  he  choose  you,  he  must  know  you. 

Yaouma.  Me !  Me !  A  poor  handmaiden  —  Is  it 
then  possible  —  truly  ? 

MiERis.     Truly  —  Yaouma,  go. 

Yaouma  [to  herself  as  she  goes]  The  God  Ammon  — 
the  God  of  Gods  — 

MiERis.     Rheou,  what  ails  you.'' 

Rheou  [angered]  It  was  a  fresh  insult  that  awaited 
me  — 

MiERis.     Insult.'' 

Rheou.  When  I  came  into  the  audience  chamber  I 
prostrated  myself  before  the  Pharaoh.  "  What  would 
you.''  "  he  cried  in  that  hard  voice  of  his.  You  know  't  is 
the  custom  to  make  no  reply,  that  one  may  seem  half 
dead  with  fear  before  his  maj  esty  — 

MiERis.     Did  you  not  so? 

Rheou.     I  did,  but  he  — 

MiERis.  Have  a  care !  Is  no  one  there  who  might 
overhear  you? 

Rheou.  No  one  —  but  he,  in  place  of  ordering  them 
to  raise  me  up,  in  place  of  bidding  me  speak  —  Oh,  the 
dog  of  an  Ethiopian !  —  he  feigned  not  to  see  me  —  for 


Act  I  False  Gods  143 

a  long  while,  a  long,  long  while  —  At  length,  when  he 
remembered  I  was  there,  anger  was  choking  me;  he 
saw  it;  he  declared  an  evil  spirit  was  in  me,  and  having 
ridiculed  me  with  his  pity,  he  bade  me  then  withdraw. 
He  forgets  that  if  I  wished  — 

MiERis.  Be  still!  Be  still!  Know  you  not  that 
there,  beside  you,  are  the  Gods  who  hear  you ! 

Rheou  [derisively]     Oh!    the  Gods  ! 

MiERis.     What  mean  you? 

Rheou  [derisively]  I  am  the  son  of  a  high  priest,  I 
know  the  Gods  —  The  Pharaoh  forgets  that  were  I  to 
remind  the  people  of  my  father's  services,  were  I  to 
arm  all  those  who  work  for  me,  and  let  them  loose 
against  him  — 

MiERis.     Rheou  I    Rheou ! 

Rheou.  Think  you  they  would  not  obey  me?  I  am 
son  of  that  high  priest,  the  Pharaoh's  friend  who  wished 
to  replace  the  Gods  of  Egypt,  by  one  only  God.  The 
court  cannot  forgive  me  for  that.  Little  they  dream, 
that  were  I  to  declare  my  father  had  appeared  to  me, 
all  those  who  know  me,  all  the  poor  folk  whose  backs 
are  blistered  by  the  tax-gatherer's  whip,  all  who  are 
terrorized  by  schemes  of  foreign  war  —  all,  all  would 
take  my  orders  as  inspired,  divine. 

MiERis.     The  fear  of  the  Gods  would  hold  them  back. 

Rheou.     How  long — I  wonder! 

MiERis.     I  hear  them  coming  for  the  prayer. 

Rheou.  Yes.  Let  us  pray  —  that  they  may  have 
nothing  to  reproach  me  with  before  I  choose  my  hour. 

MiERis.     What  hour? 

Rheou.  Could  I  but  realize  the  work  my  father 
dreamed  of  —  and  at  the  same  stroke  be  avenged  — 
avenged  for  all  the  humiliations  — 

MiERis.     Be  silent  —  I  hear  — 

The  singers  and  the  dancers  and  all  the  women  and 
servants  come  on  gradually. 


144  False  Gods  Act  I 

Rheou  [going  to  the  terrace']  The  sun  is  not  yet 
down  upon  the  hill.  But  look  —  upon  the  Nile  —  see, 
Yaouma !    't  is  the  galley  that  bears  your  betrothed. 

Yaouma.  'T  is  there  !  'T  is  there  !  —  See  —  it  has 
stopped  —  they  take  the  mallet,  and  drive  in  the  stake. 
The  boat's   prow  is  aground.      Now  they  have  prayed 

—  they  disembark.     Look,  there  is  the  strange  scribe ! 
Rheou  [looking]     A  stranger  —  he  —  I  do  not  think 

it. 

Yaouma.  I  thought,  from  his  garments,  perhaps  — 
Pakh  returns. 

Rheou.     Did  you  not  wait  for  your  son? 

Pakh  [terrified]  Master,  on  the  road  that  leads  to 
the  Nile,  I  beheld  two  dead  scarabs  — 

Rheou.  None,  then,  save  the  High  Priest,  may  pass 
till  the  road  be  purified. 

Pakh.  I  have  warned  the  travellers  they  must  go 
a  long  way  round. 

Rheou.     Did  you  not  recognize  your  son? 

Pakh.  No,  he  will  be  among  the  last  to  land, 
perhaps. 

Yaouma.  But  look  —  look !  Behold  that  man  —  the 
stranger  who  comes  this  way  alone  —  Pakh !  where 
were  they,  Pakh  —  the  scarabs  ? 

Pakh.     Near  to  the  fig  tree. 

Yaouma  [terrified]  He  is  about  to  pass  them  —  Oh! 
He  does  not  know  —  [Relieved]  Ah !  at  last,  they  warn 
him. 

Rheou.     He  stays. 

Yaouma.  Near  to  the  fig  tree,  said  you!  But  he 
is  going  on  —  He  moves  —  he  comes  — He  is  past  them 

—  [To  Mieris]      Come,  mistress,  come!     Oh  Ammon! 
Ammon ! 

Hiding  her  face  she  leads  Mieris  quickly  away. 
Rheou.     'T  is  to  our  gates  he  comes  —  he  is  here. 

Satni  enters. 


Act  I  False  Gods  145 

Satni  {^bowing  before  Rheou^     Rheou,  I  salute  you ! 

Rheou.     What  do   I   behold !     Satni  —  't  is  you  — 

Pakh.     My  son ! 

Satni  [kneeling]  Father ! 

Pakh.  'T  was  you !  —  you,  who  came  that  way, 
despite  the  scarabs? 

Satni.     It  was  I. 

Pakh.  You  know  then  some  magic  words,  I  do  not 
doubt ;  but  I  —  I  who  saw  them  —  I  must  needs  go 
purify  myself  before  the  prayer  —  to-day  is  the  feast 
of  the  Nomination  —  did  you  know  ? 

Satni.     I  knew  —  and  Yaouma? 

Pakh.     She  is  here  —  in  a  little  you  shall  see  her. 

Rheou.     Satni ! 

Satni.     You  called  me? 

Rheou.  Yes.  Did  not  you  see  the  two  scarabs  that 
lay  upon  your  path? 

Satni.     I  saw  them. 

Rheou.     And  you  did  not  stop? 

Satni.     No. 

Rheou.     Why? 

Satni.  I  have  learned  many  things  in  the  countries 
whence  I  come. 

Rheou.  You  are  a  priest.  Was  not  your  duty  to 
go  unto  the  temple,  even  before  you  knelt  at  your 
father's  feet? 

Satni.     Never  again  shall  I  enter  the  temple. 
A  long  trumpet  call  is  heard  far  off. 

Rheou.     It  is  the  signal  for  the  prayer. 

He  mounts  the  terrace  and  stretches  his  arms  to  the 
setting  sun.  Women  play  upon  the  harp  and  upon 
drums,  and  the  double  flute.  Others  clash  cymbals  and 
shake  the  sistrum.  Dancers  advance,  slowly  swaying 
their  bodies.  The  rest  mark  the  rhythm  by  the  beating 
of  hands. 

Music. 


146  False  Gods  Act  I 

Rheou.  O  Isis !  Isis !  Isis !  Three  times  do  I 
pronounce  thy  name. 

All  \_murmuring^  O  Isis !  Isis !  Isis !  Three 
times  do  I  pronounce  thy  name. 

Rheou.  O  Isis  !  thou  who  preservest  the  grain  from 
the  destroying  winds,  and  the  bodies  of  our  fathers  from 
the  ruinous  work  of  time. 

All  {^murmuring]  O  Isis !  thou  who  preservest  the 
grain  from  the  destroying  winds,  and  the  bodies  of  our 
fathers  from  the  ruinous  work  of  time. 

Rheou.     O  Isis  !    preserve  us. 

All  [murmuringi     O  Isis !    preserve  us. 

Rheou.     By  the  three  times  thy  name  is  spoken. 

All  Imurmuring^  By  the  three  times  thy  name  is 
spoken. 

Rheou.    Both  here,  and  there,  and  there. 

All  l^murmuring]  Both  here,  and  there,  and 
there. 

Rheou,  And  to-day,  and  all  days,  and  throughout 
the  ages,  as  long  as  our  temples  are  mirrored  in  the 
waters  of  the  Nile. 

All  [murmuring^  And  to-day,  and  all  days,  and 
throughout  the  ages,  as  long  as  our  temples  are  mirrored 
in  the  waters  of  the  Nile. 

Rheou.     Isis ! 

All   l^murmuring^    Isis ! 

Rheou.     Isis ! 

All  [murmuring]    Isis ! 

Rheou.     Isis ! 

All  [murmuring]    Isis ! 

All  prostrate  themselves  save  the  singers  and  the 
dancers. 

Rheou.  We  beseech  thee,  Ammon !  Deign  to  make 
known  the  virgin  who  will  be  offered  to  the  Nile.  Am- 
mon, deign  to  make  her  known ! 

All  [murmuring]     Deign  to  make  her  known. 


Act  I  False  Gods  147 

The  music  stops.  A  long  pause  in  silence.  Then  far 
off  a  trumpet  call. 

Rheou.     Rise !     The  God  has  made  his  choice. 

All  rise,  and  begin  chattering  and  laughing  gaily. 

Rheou  [fo  Satni']  You,  alone,  did  not  pray,  and  stood 
the  while.     Wherefore? 

Satni.  I  have  come  from  a  land  where  I  learned 
wisdom. 

Rheou.  You !  —  You  who  were  to  be  priest  of 
Ammon ! 

Satni.     I  shall  never  be  priest  of  Ammon. 

Voices.  Listen !  Listen !  —  The  name !  They  begin 
to  cry  the  name! 

The  distant  sound  of  voices  is  heard.  Every  one  in 
the  scene  save  Satni  is  listening  intently. 

Rheou.     The  name  !     The  name  ! 

He  mounts  the  terrace.  The  setting  sun  reddens  the 
heavens. 

Satni  [to  Yaouma^  At  last  I  find  you  again, 
Yaouma.  And  you  wear  still  the  chain  of  maidenhood. 
You  have  waited  for  me? 

Yaouma.     Yes,  Satni,  I  have  waited  for  you. 

Satni.     The  memory  of  you  went  with  me  always. 

Yaouma.     Listen! — [Distant  sound  of  voices^. 

A  Woman.    Methinks  't  is  Raouit  of  the  next  village. 

A  Man.     No  !     No  !     'T  is  not  that  name. 

Satni  [to  Yaouma]  What  matter  their  cries  to  you. 
Have  you  forgot  our  promises? 

Yaouma.     No  —  Listen! — [Voices   nearer], 

A  Woman.     'T  is  Amterra  !     'T  is  Amterra  ! 

Another.     No  !     'T  is  Hihourr  ! 

Another.     No  !     Amterra  lives  the  other  way. 

Another.     One  can  hear  nothing  clearly  now. 

Another.     They  are  passing  behind  the  palm  grove. 

Satni  [to  Yaouma]  Answer  me  —  you  have  ears 
only  for  their  clamor  —  I  love  you,  Yaouma. 


148  False  Gods  Act  I 

A  Voice.     They  are  coming !     They  are  coming ! 

Another.     Then  't  is  Karma^  of  the  next  house. 

Another.     No!    'tis  Hene.     Ahou,  I  tell  you  —  or 
Karma !     Karma ! 

Satni  [io  FaoMTwo]     Have  you,  then,  ceased  to  love 
me.'' 

Yaouma  [distracted]     No,  no,  I  love  you  —  Satni  — 
but  I  seem  to  hear  my  name  amid  the  cries  — 

Satni.     Let  them  cry  your  name  —  I  will  watch  over 
you. 

Yaouma.     Oh,  Satni!     If  the  God  have  chosen  me.'' 

Satni.     What  God?     It  is  the  priests  who  make  him 
speak. 

The  sounds  come  nearer. 

A  Voice.     'T  is  Yaouma !    they  come  here !     Quick, 
quick,  let  us  do  them  honor  on  their  coming. 

Another.     No  ! 

Another.     Yes ! 

Another.     'T  is  she  ! 

Another.     No  ! 

Another.     Yes  !  yes  !    Yaouma ! 

Satni  [to  Yaouma]     Do  not  be  fooled.     The  God  is 
but  a  stone. 

Yaouma  [who  no  longer  listens]     I  have  heard.     It  is 
my  name  —  my  name ! 

A  Voice.     They  are  coming !  — 

Another.     They  are  here ! 

Every  one  begins  to  go  out. 

Another  [going]     'T  is  Yaouma  ! 

Loud      shouts      without  —  "  'T  is       Yaouma  —  'T  is 
Yaouma  —  " 

Steward  [to  Rheou]     Master,  it  is  Yaouma. 

Rheou.     Go,  as  't  is  custom,  let  all  go  forth  to  meet 
those  who  come. 

All  go  out  save  Yaouma  and  Satni. 

Satni.     'T  is  you  — 


Act  I  False  Gods  149 

Yaouma   [radiant]     'T  is.  I! 

Satni,     You  may  refuse. 

Yaouma.     And  leave  Egypt  — 

Satni.     We  will  leave  it  together. 

Yaouma.  'T  is  I!  Think  of  it,  Satni!  The  God, 
out  of  all  my  companions,  the  God  has  chosen  me ! 

Satni.     Do  not  stay  here.     Come  with  me. 

Yaouma  [listening]  Yes  —  yes  —  You  hear  them  ? 
It  is  I ! 

Satni.     You  are  going  to  refuse  ! 

Yaouma  [with  a  radiant  smile]  You  would  love  me 
no  longer,  if  I  refused. 

Satni.     But  know  you  not,  it  is  death  .f* 

Yaouma  [in  ecstasy]     Yes,  Satni,  it  is  death! 

Satni.  You  are  mine  —  You  are  plighted  to  me  — 
Come  —  Come ! 

Yaouma.  Satni  —  Satni  —  you  would  not  have  me 
refuse  ? 

Satni.     I  would.     I  love  you. 

Yaouma.     Refuse  to  answer  the  call  of  the  Gods. 

Satni.     The  call  of  the  Gods  is  death. 

Yaouma.  The  God  has  chosen  me,  before  all  he  has 
preferred  me.  He  has  preferred  me  to  those  who  are 
fairer,  to  those  who  are  richer.  And  I  should  hide 
myself ! 

Satni.     It  is  out  of  pride  then  that  you  would  die? 

Yaouma,  I  die  to  bring  the  flooding  of  the  Nile  — 
to  make  fertile  all  the  Egj'^ptian  fields.  If  I  answer 
not  to  the  voices  that  call  me,  my  name  will  be  a  byword 
wherever  the  rays  of  the  sun-God  fall.  Another  than  I 
will  go  clothed  in  the  dazzling  robe.  Another  will  hear 
the  shouting  of  the  multitude.  Another  will  be  given 
to  the  Nile. 

Satni.  Another  will  die,  and  you,  you  will  live,  for 
your  own  joy  and  for  mine. 

Yaouma.     For  my  own  shame  and  for  yours. 


150  False  Gods  Act  I 

Satni.  Light  the  world  with  your  beauty.  Live, 
Yaouma,  live  with  me !  Bright  shall  your  breast  be  with 
the  flower  of  the  persea,  and  your  tresses  anointed  heavy 
with  sweet  odor. 

Yaouma.  The  waves  of  the  Nile  will  be  my  head- 
dress. Oh!  fair  green  robe,  with  flowers  yet  more 
fair. 

Satni.  Yaouma,  you  loved  me  —  [She  bends  her 
head}  Remember,  remember  my  going  away,  but  two 
years  since,  how  you  did  weep  when  I  embarked.  You 
ran  by  the  bank,  you  followed  the  boat  that  bore  me. 
I  see  you  still,  the  slim  form,  the  swift  lank  limbs ;  I 
can  hear  still  the  sound  of  your  little  naked  feet  upon 
the  sand.  And  when  the  boat  grounded  —  do  you  re- 
member? For  hours  the  oarsmen  pushed  with  long 
poles,  singing  the  while,  and  you  clapping  your  hands 
and  crying  out  my  name.  And  when  at  length  we  floated, 
there  was  laughter  and  cries  of  joy  —  but  you,  you  did 
stand  all  on  a  sudden  still,  and  I  knew  then  that  you 
wept.  You  climbed  to  a  hillock,  and  you  waved  your 
arms,  you  grew  smaller,  smaller,  smaller,  till  we  turned 
by  a  cluster  of  palms.  Oh,  how  you  promised  to  wait 
for  me ! 

Yaouma.     Have  I  not  waited? 

Satni.  We  had  chosen  the  place  to  build  our  home. 
Do  you  remember? 

Yaouma.     Yes. 

Satni.  And  dreamed  of  nights  when  you  should  sleep 
with  your  head  upon  my  breast —  [Yaouma  bends  her 
head]  And  now  you  seek  a  grave  in  the  slime  of  the 
river. 

Yaouma  [with  fervor'}  The  slime  of  the  river  is  holy, 
the  river  is  holy.  The  Nile  is  nine  times  holy.  It  makes 
grow  the  pasture  that  feeds  our  flocks.  It  drinks  the 
tears  of  all  our  eyes. 

Satni.     Listen,  Yaouma,  I  will  reveal  the  truth  to 


Act  I  False  Gods  151 

you.  The  Gods  who  claim  your  sacrifice  —  the  Gods 
are  false. 

Yaouma.     The  Gods  are  true  — 

Satni.     They  are  powerless. 

Yaouma.  It  is  their  power  that  subdues  me  —  it  is 
stronger  than  love.  Until  to-day  I  loved  you  more  than 
all  the  living  things  upon  the  earth  —  the  breath  of 
your  mouth  alone  gave  life  to  my  heart.  Even  this  very 
day,  I  dreaded  being  chosen  of  the  Gods.  But  now, 
who  has  so  utterly  transformed  me  if  it  be  not  the  Gods? 
You  are  to  me  as  nothing,  now.  And  I  who  trembled 
at  a  scorpion,  who  wept  at  the  pricking  of  a  thorn,  I  am 
all  joy  at  the  thought  of  dying  soon.  How  could  this 
be  if  the  Gods  had  not  willed  it.'' 

Satni.  Hear  me  a  little  —  and  I  can  prove  to 
you  — 

Yaouma.  No  words  can  take  away  the  glory  of  being 
chosen  by  the  Gods. 

Satni.     By  the  priests. 

Yaouma.  'T  is  the  same,  the  priests  are  the  voice  of 
the  Gods. 

Satni.  'T  is  they  who  say  so.  The  Gods  of  Egypt 
exist  only  because  men  have  invented  them. 

Yaouma.  The  peoples  from  whose  lands  you  come 
have  made  you  lose  your  reason.  [With  a  smile  of  pity^ 
Say  that  our  Gods  exist  not !    Think,  Satni ! 

Satni.  Neither  the  Gods,  nor  the  happy  fields,  nor 
the  world  to  come,  nor  hell. 

Yaouma.  Ah  !  Ah !  I  will  prove  you  mad  —  you 
say  there  is  no  hell  —  But  we  know,  we  know  that  it 
exists,  look  there !  [Pointing  to  the  sunset]  When  the 
sun  grows  red  at  evening,  is  it  not  because  the  glow  of 
hell  is  thrown  upon  it  from  below?  You  have  but  to 
open  your  eyes.     [Laughing]     The  Gods  not  exist ! 

Satni.  They  do  not.  In  the  sanctuaries  of  our 
temples   is   nothing  save   beasts,   unclean,   absurd,   and 


152  False  Gods  Act  I 

lifeless  images ;  believe  me,  Yaouma  —  I  love  you  —  I 
will  not  see  you  die.  Your  sacrifice  is  useless.  Not 
because  you  are  offered  up  will  the  waters  of  the  Nile 
rise !  Refuse,  hide  yourself,  the  waters  will  still  rise. 
Ah,  to  lose  you  for  a  lie !  To  lose  you  —  you !  How  can 
I  convince  you  ?  —  I  know  !  Yaouma,  you  saw  me  cross 
the  dead  scarabs  on  my  path.  And  yet  I  live !  Oh !  it 
angers  me  to  see  my  words  move  you  not.  Your  reason, 
your  reason !     Awaken  your  reason  — 

Yaouma.     I  am  listening  to  my  heart. 

Satni.  I  will  save  you  in  spite  of  you  —  I  will  keep 
you  by  force  — 

Yaouma.     If  you  do,  I  shall  hate  you  — 

Satni.     What  matter  I  shall  have  saved  you. 

Yaouma.     And  I  shall  kill  myself. 

Satni  [seizing  her]  Will  you  not  understand !  The 
God-bull,  the  God-hippopotamus,  the  God-jackal  —  they 
are  naught  but  idols  ! 

Yaouma.     My  father  worshipped  them. 

Every  one  comes  back.  Rheou,  who  during  all  the 
preceding  scene  was  hidden  behind  a  pillar,  goes  to  meet 
them. 

Some  Men.     Yaouma  !     Yaouma ! 

Another.     Up  to  the  terrace ! 

Others.  Up  to  the  terrace !  Let  her  go  up  to  the 
terrace ! 

Another.     And  let  her  lift  her  arms  to  heaven ! 

Another.  Let  her  show  that  she  will  give  herself  to 
the  Nile. 

Satni  [to  Yaouma]  Stay !  Stay  with  me !  Then 
together  — 

Yaouma  [in  ecstasy]  He  has  chosen  me  from  among 
all  others ! 

All.     Yaouma ! 

Satni.  She  has  refused!  She  has  refused!  And  I 
will  take  her  away. 


Act  I  False  Gods  153 

All.  No  !  No !  To  the  terrace  !  The  prayer !  The 
prayer ! 

Rheou.     Yaouma,  go  and  pray. 

Satni.     She  has  refused ! 

MiERis.  Choose,  Yaouma,  between  our  Gods  and  a 
man. 

Rheou.     Between  the  glory  of  sacrifice  — 

Satni.     Between  falsehood  and  me,  Yaouma  — 

Yaouma.  The  God  has  called  me  to  save  my 
brothers ! 

Satni.     You  are  going  to  death ! 

Yaouma.  To  life  —  the  real  life  —  the  life  with  the 
Gods.     l^Going  to  the  terrace^. 

Satni.     They  lie ! 

Yaouma.     Peace ! 

Satni.  In  spite  of  you,  I  will  save  you.  [Yaouma 
goes  up  the  stairway  leading  to  the  terrace.  Satni  stands 
on  a  bench  and  shouts  to  the  crowd]  Hear  me,  my 
brothers,  I  know  of  better  Gods,  of  Gods  who  ask  for 
no  victims  — 

The  People.     They  are  false  Gods ! 

Satni.     They  are  better  Gods  — 

Steward.     Rheou  !     Rheou  !    bid  him  cease ! 

Rheou.     No  —  let  him  speak. 

Satni.  I  come  to  save  you  from  error,  to  overthrow 
the  idols,  to  teach  you  eternal  truths  — 

An  immense  shout  of  acclamation  drowns  the  rest  of 
Satni's  words,  as  Yaouma,  who  has  appeared  on  the 
terrace  above,  stands  with  her  arms  raised  to  the  setting 
sun.     Mieris  kneels  and  crosses  her  hands  in  prayer. 

CURTAIN 


ACT    II 

Scene:   Same  as  Act  I. 

Rheou  discovered  alone.  After  a  few  moments  the 
Steward  enters  through  the  gates. 

Rheou.     What  have  you  seen? 

Steward.     The  preparations  for  the  festival  continue. 

Rheou.     At  the  Temple.^ 

Steward.     At  the  Temple. 

Rheou.     For  the  Feast  of  Prodigies? 

Steward.     For  the  Feast  of  Prodigies. 

Rheou.  And  the  priests  believe  they  can  celebrate  it 
to-morrow  ? 

Steward.     I  have  seen  no  reason  to  doubt  of  it. 

Rheou.     Without  Yaouma? 

Steward.     I  do  not  know. 

Rheou.  You  are  mistaken  perhaps.  Did  you  go 
down  as  far  as  the  Nile? 

Steward.     Yes,  master. 

Rheou.     Well? 

Steward.  They  have  finished  the  decoration  of  the 
sacred  barge. 

Rheou.     I  do  not  understand  it. 

Steward.  Nor  I,  for  I  know  that  a  certain  number 
of  the  soldiers  have  refused  to  renew  the  attempt  of 
yesterday  — 

Rheou.     They  have  refused? 

Steward.     Yes. 

Rheou.     What  did  they  say? 

154 


Act  II  False  Gods  155 

Steward.     That  they  were  afraid. 

Rheou.     Of  what  —  of  whom.'' 

Steward.     Of  Satni. 

Rheou.     Of  Satni? 

Steward.  Yes.  They  say  it  was  he  who  caused  the 
miracle  of  yesterday. 

Rheou.  What  —  what  do  they  say?  Their  words 
—  tell  me  ? 

Steward.     That  it  was  he  — 

Rheou.     He,  Satni  ?  — 

Steward.     Yes. 

Rheou.     Who  caused  the  miracle  of  yesterday? 

Steward.     Yes. 

Rheou.  The  miracle  that  prevented  them  from 
carrying  out  the  order  of  the  High  Priest? 

Steward.     Yes. 

Rheou.     The  order  to  come  here  and  seize  Yaouma? 

Steward.     Yes. 

Rheou.     So  that  is  what  they  say? 

Steward.     Every  one  says  it. 

Rheou  [after  some  reflection]  Come,  it  is  time  you 
learned  the  truth,  that  you  may  repeat  it  all.  In  the 
countries  whither  he  went  Satni  learned  many  things  — 
great  things.  Come  hither,  lend  your  ear.  He  de- 
clares there  be  other  gods  than  the  gods  of  Egypt  — 
and  more  powerful.  If  you  remember,  my  father  and 
the  Pharaoh  Amenotep  likewise  declared  this,  and  would 
have  made  these  gods  known  to  us.  How  they  were 
frustrated  you  know.  It  seems  —  for  my  own  part  I 
know  not,  't  is  Satni  says  so,  ceaselessly,  these  two 
months  since  his  return  —  it  seems  then,  the  time  is 
come  when  these  Gods  would  make  them  known  to  us. 
They  have  endowed  Satni  with  superhuman  power. 
That  I  know,  and  none  may  doubt  it  now.  Satni  is  re- 
solved to  keep  his  betrothed,  and  the  Lybian  Guards 
were  not  deceived,  it  was  he  who  yesterday  called  down 


156  False  Gods  Act  II 

the  thunder  and  the  floods  from  Heaven  upon  the  sol- 
diers sent  here  to  seize  Yaouma. 

Steward.  The  oldest  remember  but  one  such 
prodigy. 

Rheou.  What  I  have  told  you,  tell  to  all;  and  this, 
besides,  say  to  them:  each  time  that  any  would  cross 
the  will  of  Satni  —  they  who  dare  the  attempt  will  be 
scattered,  even  as  the  guards  were  scattered  yesterday. 
Add  this,  that  Satni  is  guided  by  the  spirit  of  the  dead 
Pharaoh,  that  I  last  night  beheld  my  father's  spirit,  and 
that  great  events  will  come  to  pass  in  Egypt. 

Steward.     I  shall  tell  them. 

Rheou.     Behold,  the  envoy  of  the  new  gods !     Leave 
me  to  speak  with  him.    Go,  repeat  my  words. 
The  Steward  goes  out. 

Satni  enters  from  the  back.  Rheou  prostrates  himself 
before  Satni. 

Satni  [looking  behind  him]  Before  which  God  do 
you  still  bow  down.f* 

Rheou.  Before  you.  If  you  be  not  a  God,  you  are 
the  spirit  of  a  God. 

Satni.     I  do  not  understand  your  words. 

Rheou.  Who  can  call  down  thunderbolts  from 
heaven,  unless  he  be  an  envoy  of  the  Gods  ? 

Satni.     I  am  no  — 

Rheou.  'T  is  well,  't  is  well.  You  would  have  us 
blind  to  your  power  of  working  miracles.  After  yester- 
day you  can  hide  it  no  more.  Henceforth,  Satni,  you 
must  no  longer  confine  your  teaching  to  Mieris,  to  me, 
to  your  parents,  Yaouma,  to  a  few  —  henceforth  you 
may  speak  to  all,  all  ears  are  opened  by  this  miracle. 

Satni.  Let  us  leave  that !  I  pray  you  rise  and  tell 
me  rather  what  has  befallen  Yaouma. 

Rheou.  Yaouma !  —  Did  she  not  at  first  interpret 
the  thunderclap  as  sign  of  the  wrath  of  Ammon  against 
her? 


Act  II  False  Gods  157 

Satni.  She  believes  still  in  Ammon,  then,  despite 
all  I  have  said  to  her. 

Rheou.  Happily  I  undeceived  her.  I  made  her  un- 
derstand that  't  was  you  the  elements  obeyed,  that  the 
thunder  that  frighted  her,  was  but  a  sign  o£  your  power. 

Satni.     Why  should  you  lie  to  her.'' 

Rheou.  It  was  not  wholly  lying.  Besides,  it  was 
fortunate  I  could  thus  explain  the  event.  Had  you  but 
seen  her  — 

Satni.  All  my  efforts  of  these  two  months  past,  in 
vain ! 

Rheou.  You  remember  when  you  left  us  yesterday. 
You  might  have  thought  that  all  her  superstitions  were 
banished  at  last.  She  no  longer  answered  you,  she 
questioned  you  no  more,  and  at  your  last  words  her  si- 
lence confirmed  the  belief  that  at  length  you  had  won 
her  away  from  Ammon.  Yet  after  you  were  gone,  at 
the  moment  of  entering  her  hiding  place,  she  was  swept 
with  sudden  fury  as  though  an  evil  spirit  had  entered 
her,  wept,  cried  and  tore  her  hair  — 

Satni.     What  said  she? 

Rheou.  "  To  the  temple !  to  the  temple  !  I  would 
go  to  the  temple !  The  God  has  chosen  me !  The  God 
awaits  me !  Egypt  will  perish !  "  In  short,  words  of 
madness.    She  would  have  killed  herself ! 

Satni.     Killed  herself! 

Rheou.  We  had  to  put  constraint  on  her.  And  't  was 
only  when  I  led  her  to  this  terrace,  after  the  thunder- 
bolt, and  pointed  out  the  scattered  soldiery,  that  she 
came  to  herself,  that  at  length  she  perceived  that  your 
God  was  the  most  powerful.  "  What,"  she  cried,  "  't  is 
he,  he,  my  Satni,  who  shakes  the  heavens  and  the  earth 
for  me  !  For  me !  "  she  murmured,  "  for  me  !  "  She 
would  have  kissed  your  sandals,  offered  you  a  sacrifice, 
worshipped,  adored  you.  See  where  she  comes,  with 
Mieris !     Stay. 


158  False  Gods  Act  II 

Satni.     No. 

He  goes.  Rheou  accompanies  him.  Mieris  enters, 
bearing  flowers  and  led  by  Yaouma. 

MiERis  [listening]     Is  he  there? 

Yaouma.     No. 

Mieris.     Leave  me. 

Yaouma  goes  out.  Mieris  left  alone  makes  several 
hesitating  steps  toward  the  statue  of  I  sis,  then  goes  up 
to  it  and  touches  it.     A  pause. 

Mieris.     If  it  be  only  of  wood ! 

A  gesture  of  disillusion.  She  draws  slowly  away  from 
the  statue,  letting  her  flowers  fall,  broken-hearted,  and 
begins  to  weep.     Rheou  returns. 

Rheou.  Why,  Mieris  —  do  you  bring  flowers  to  Isis 
still.? 

Mieris.  It  is  the  last  time.  Listen,  Rheou  —  We 
must  ask  Satni  to  heal  me.  Do  not  tell  me  it  is  not 
possible;   he  has  healed  Ahmarsti. 

Rheou.     Healed  Ahmarsti.? 

Mieris.  Yes.  He  made  her  drink  a  liquid  wherein 
no  doubt  a  good  genius  was  hidden,  and  the  evil  spirit 
that  tormented  her  was  driven  forth. 

Rheou  [credulously]     Is 't  possible .? 

Mieris.     Every  one  saw  it.     And  Kitoui  — 

Rheou.     Well.? 

Mieris,  Kitoui,  the  cripple,  went  this  morning  to 
draw  water  from  the  Nile,  before  all  her  neighbors  who 
marvelled  and  cried  with  joy.  And  she  had  merely 
touched  the  hem  of  his  garment,  even  without  his  know- 
ing it.  He  has  healed  the  child  of  Riti,  too,  he  knows 
gods  more  powerful  than  ours  —  younger  gods,  perhaps, 
our  gods  are  so  old —  If  it  were  not  so,  how  could  he 
have  walked  unscathed  the  road  where  the  scarabs  lay, 
that  day  when  he  came  home?  Since  then,  men  have 
seen  him  do  a  thousand  forbidden  things,  have  seen  him 
defy  our  gods  by  disrespect.     Without  the  protection 


Act  II  False  Gods  159 

of  a  higher  power,  how  could  he  escape  the  chastisement 
whereof  another  had  died?  Who  are  his  gods?  Rheou, 
he  must  make  them  known  to  you. 

Rheou.     He  refuses. 

MiERis.     For  what  reason? 

Rheou.  The  reason  he  gives  is  absurd  —  he  says 
there  are  no  gods  — 

MiERis.     No  gods  !   no  gods  !  —  he  is  mocking  you. 

Rheou.     He  is  bound  to  secrecy,  perhaps. 

MiERis.  Rheou,  know  you  that  this  Ahmarsti  — 
these  two  years  now,  on  the  day  of  Prodigies,  have  I 
heard  her  at  my  side  howling  prayers  at  the  goddess 
that  were  never  answered. 

Rheou.  I  know.  Satni  declares  he  could  have  healed 
all  whom  the  goddess  has  relieved. 

MiERis  [to  herself]  He  relieves  even  those  women 
whom  she  abandons  —  [After  a  pause]  He  must  teach 
you  the  words  that  work  these  miracles. 

Rheou.     He  refuses. 

MiERis.     Force  him ! 

Rheou.     He  says  there  are  none. 

MiERis.     Threaten  him  with  death  —  he  will  speak. 

Rheou.     No. 

MiERis  [with  excitement]  But  you  do  not  understand 
me !  —  he  has  healed  Ahmarsti,  he  has  healed  Kitoui, 
wherefore  should  he  not  heal  me? 

Rheou  [sadly]  Ah!  Mieris,  Mieris,  think  you  I 
waited  for  your  prayer,  to  ask  him  that? 

Mieris.     Well  — Well— ? 

Rheou.  I  could  gain  nothing  but  these  words 
from  him:  "Could  I  overcome  the  evil  Mieris  suffers 
from,  even  now  should  she  rejoice  in  the  splendor  of 
day." 

Mieris.  Nothing  is  impossible  to  the  gods,  even  to 
ours ;  how  much  more  then  to  his !  —  He  did  not  yield 
to  your  prayers  !  —    Insist,  order,  threaten  !    Force  him 


160  False  Gods  Act  II 

to  speak.  You  have  the  right  to  command  him.  He  is 
but  the  son  of  a  potter  after  all.  Let  him  be  whipped 
till  he  yield.  Do  anything,  have  him  whipped  to  the 
point  of  death  —  or  better,  offer  him  fields,  the  hill  of 
date-trees  that  is  ours ;  offer  him  our  flocks,  and  my 
jewels  and  precious  stones  —  tell  him  we  know  him  for 
a  living  god  —  but  I  would  be  healed.  I  would  be 
healed!  I  would  see!  See!  [With  anger'\  Ah!  you 
know  not  the  worth  of  the  light,  you  whose  eyes  are 
filled  with  it !  You  cannot  picture  my  misery,  you  who 
suffer  it  not !  You  grieve  for  me,  I  doubt  not,  but  you 
think  you  have  done  enough,  having  given  me  pity !  — 
No,  no,  I  am  wrong — I  am  unjust.  But  forgive  me; 
this  thought  that  I  might  be  healed  has  made  me  mad. 
Rheou !  —  Think,  Rheou,  what  it  means  to  be  blind, 
to  have  been  so  always,  and  to  know  that  beside  one  are 
those  who  see  —  who  see !  —  The  humblest  of  our 
shepherds,  the  most  wretched  of  the  women  at  our  looms, 
I  envy  them.  And  when,  at  times,  I  hear  them  complain, 
I  curb  myself  lest  I  should  strike  them,  wretches  that 
know  not  their  good  fortune.  I  feel  that  all  you,  you 
who  see,  should  never  cease  from  songs  of  joy,  and 
hymns  of  thanksgiving  to  the  gods — [With  an  out- 
burst] I  speak  of  sight!  Think,  Rheou,  I  have  not 
even  a  clear  idea  of  what  it  means  "  to  see."  To  recog- 
nize without  touch,  to  know  without  need  to  listen.  To 
perceive  the  sun  another  way  than  by  the  heat  of  its 
rays  !  —  They  say  the  flowers  are  so  beautiful !  —  I 
would  see  you,  my  well-beloved.  Oh !  the  day  when 
I  shall  see  your  eyes  !  —  I  would  see,  that  you  may  show 
me  some  likeness  of  the  little  child  we  lost.  You  shall 
point  out,  among  the  rest,  those  that  are  most  like  to 
him.  This  misery  —  O  my  beloved  !  —  I  do  not  often 
speak  of  it  —  but  I  suffer  it !  I  suffer  it !  [She  is  in 
his  arms]  They  have  taken  from  me  the  hope  that  our 
gods  will  heal  me,  if  they  give  me  nothing  in  its  place. 


Act  II  False  Gods  161 

know  you  what  I  shall  do?  —  I  shall  go  away,  alone, 
one  night,  touching  the  walls,  and  the  trees  —  and  the 
trees,  with  my  arms  outstretched;  I  shall  go  down  as 
far  as  the  Nile  and  there,  gently,  I  shall  glide  away  to 
death. 

Rheou.     Peace,  O  my  best  beloved! 

MiERis  [listening^  I  hear  him  —  he  comes.  I  leave 
you  with  him  !  Lead  him  to  my  door  —  love  me  —  save 
me ! 

She  attempts  to  go  out,  he  leads  her.  Satni  enters 
followed  by  Nourm,  Sokiti,  and  Bitiou. 

NouRM.  Yes  !  Thou  who  art  mighty !  —  Yes  !  Yes  ! 
Make  me  rich  —  I  have  had  blows  of  the  stick  so  long ! 
I  would  be  rich  to  be  able  to  give  them  in  my  turn !  — 
You  have  but  to  speak  the  magic  words. 

Satni  [^somewhat  brutally]  Leave  me !  I  am  no 
magician. 

SoKiTi.  I,  I  do  not  ask  for  money.  Listen  not  to 
him;  he  is  bad.  I,  I  only  ask  that  you  make  Khames 
die;  he  has  taken  from  me  the  girl  I  would  have  wed. 
[Satni  pushes  him  away.  Sokiti,  weeping,  clings  to  his 
garments]  Grant  it,  I  implore  you  —  I  implore  you  !  — 
My  life  is  gone  with  her  —  make  him  die,  I  pray  you. 

Satni.     Leave  me ! 

SoKiTi.     Hear  me. 

Bitiou  [coming  between  them  and  striking  Sokiti'] 
Begone !  Begone  !  He  would  not  hear  you  !  [Sokiti 
goes  out]  Listen  —  listen  —  you  see  I  made  him  go. 
All  —  all  whom  you  will,  I  shall  beat  them  for  you. 
Listen  —  if  you  could  make  me  tall  like  you,  and  steady 
on  my  legs  —  See  —  here  —  I  have  hidden  away,  safe, 
three  gold  rings,  that  I  stole  a  while  since;  I  will  give 
them  you. 

Satni.     Go,  take  them  to  the  high  priest  — 

Bitiou  [pitiably]     I  have  given  four  to  him  already. 

Sokiti  and  Nourm   are   conferring   together.     Enter 


162  False  Gods  Act  II 

Rheou.  They  run  away,  Bitiou  follows,  falling  and 
picking  himself  up. 

Rheou.     What  do  they  want  of  you? 

Satni.  They  came  here,  following  me.  They  believe 
me  gifted  with  supernatural  power^  and  crave  miracles 
of  me,  as  though  I  were  a  God,  or  a  juggler.  I  am 
neither,  and  I  work  no  miracles. 

Rheou.     None  the  less  you  have  worked  two  miracles. 

Satni.     Not  one. 

Rheou.     And  you  will  work  yet  one  more. 

Satni.  Never.  I  came  hither  not  to  perform  mir- 
acles, but  to  prevent  them. 

Rheou.     You  will  heal  Mieris. 

Satni.  No  one  can  heal  her,  nor  I,  nor  any 
other. 

Rheou.     Give  her  a  little  hope. 

Satni.     How  can  I  ? 

Rheou.  Tell  her  you  will  invoke  your  God,  and  that 
some  day  perhaps  — 

Satni.  I  have  no  God.  If  there  be  a  god,  he  is  so 
great,  so  far  from  us,  so  utterly  beyond  our  comprehen- 
sion, that  for  us  it  is  as  though  he  did  not  exist.  To 
believe  that  one  of  our  actions,  to  believe  that  a  prayer 
could  act  upon  the  will  of  God,  is  to  belittle  him,  to  deny 
him.  He  is  himself  incapable  of  a  miracle ;  it  would  be 
to  belie  himself.  Could  he  improve  his  work,  he  would 
not  then  have  created  it  perfect  from  the  first.  He 
could  not  do  it. 

Rheou.     Our  ancient  gods  at  least  permitted  hope. 

Satni.     Keep  them. 

Rheou.  In  the  heart  of  Mieris,  you  have  destroyed 
them. 

Satni.     Do  you  regret  it? 

Rheou.     Not  yet. 

Satni.     What  would  you  say  ? 

Rheou.     Even  if  it  be  true  that  sight  will  never  be 


Act  II  False  Gods  163 

given  her,  do  not  tell  her  so.     Far  better  promise  that 
she  will  be  healed. 

Satni.  And  to  all  the  others,  must  I  promise  healing 
too.''  Because  in  a  house  I  relieved  a  child,  whose  ill- 
ness sprang  from  a  cause  I  could  remove;  because  a 
woman,  ill  in  imagination,  did  cure  herself  by  touching 
my  garment's  hem;  must  I  then  descend  to  play  the 
part  of  sorcerer.''  I  had  behind  me  there,  but  now,  a 
rabble  of  the  wretched  imploring  me,  believing  me  all 
powerful,  begging  for  them  and  theirs  unrealizable 
miracles.  Should  I  then  cheat  them  too,  all  those  poor 
wretches,  promising  what  I  know  I  cannot  give .''  I  came 
hither  to  make  an  end  of  lies,  not  to  replace  them  with 
others. 

Rheou  [with  passionl  Ah  !  You  would  not  lie.  You 
would  not  lie  to  the  wretched.  You  would  not  lie  to 
Mieris.     You  would  lie  to  no  one,  is  it  so-f* 

Satni.     To  no  one. 

Rheou.  We  shall  see!  [Calling  rights  Yaouma! 
—  Let  them  send  Yaouma!  [To  Satni]  Not  to  her 
either,  then.''  Good;  if  you  speak  the  truth  to  her,  if 
you  deny  that  you  have  supernatural  power,  if  you 
force  her  to  believe  you  had  no  hand  in  the  miracle  that 
saved  her  yesterday,  she  will  give  herself  to  the  priests, 
or  she  will  kill  herself!     What  will  you  do? 

Yaouma  enters,  she  tries  to  prostrate  herself  before 
Satni,  who  prevents  her.  In  the  meantime  the  Steward 
greatly  moved  has  come  to  whisper  to  Rheou. 

Rheou  [deeply  moved]     He  is  there ! 

Steward.     In  person. 

Rheou.     'T  is  an  order  of  the  Pharaoh  then? 

Steward.     Yes. 

Rheou.     I  am  troubled. 

He  goes  out  with  the  Steward. 

Satni  [to  Yaouma]  What  is  it  ails  you?  Why  are 
you  so  sad? 


164  False  Gods  Act  II 

Yaouma.  You  will  want  nothing  more  of  me,  now 
that  you  are  a  god. 

Satni.     Be  not  afraid:    I  am  not  a  god. 

Yaouma.  Almost.  'T  is  a  daughter  of  the  Pharaoh 
you  will  marry  now. 

Satni.     I  will  marry  you. 

Yaouma.     You  will  swear  to. 

Satni.     Yes. 

Yaouma.  By  Ammon  ?  —  [Recollectingi  By  your 
god? 

Satni.     My  god  is  not  concerned  with  us. 

Yaouma.     Who  then  is  concerned  with  us? 

Satni.     No  one. 

Yaouma.  You  do  not  want  to  tell  me.  You  treat  me 
as  a  child  —  mocking  me. 

Satni.  Why  do  you  need  an  oath?  I  love  you,  and 
you  shall  be  my  wife. 

Yaouma  [radiant^  I  shall  be  your  wife  !  —  I,  little 
Yaouma,  I  shall  be  wife  to  a  man  whom  the  heavens 
obey! —  [A  pause]  When  I  think  that  you  loosed  the 
thunder  for  my  sake  — 

Satni.     No,  vain  child,  I  did  not  loose  the  thunder. 

Yaouma.  Yes,  yes,  yes  —  I  understand.  You  want 
no  one  to  know  that  you  have  found  the  book  of  Thoth 
—  fear  not,  I  know  how  to  hold  my  peace.  [Coaxingly 
she  puts  her  arms  round  Satni's  neck  and  rubs  her  cheek 
against  his]     Tell  me,  how  did  you  find  it? 

Satni.  I  have  not  found  the  book  of  magic  spells; 
besides,  it  would  have  profited  me  nothing. 

Yaouma.  Sit  —  you  would  not  sit?  They  say  'tis 
shut  up  in  three  caskets,  hidden  at  the  bottom  of  the 
sea. 

Satni.  I  tell  you  again  I  neither  sought,  nor  found 
it. 

Yaouma.  What  do  you  do  then,  to  strike  fire  from 
heaven  ? 


Act  II  False  Gods  165 

Satni.      I  did  not  strike  fire  from  heaven. 

Yaouma  [crossly]  Oh  !  I  do  not  love  you  now  !  — 
Yes,  yes,  yes,  I  love  you!  [A  pause]  So  it  pleased 
you  then,  when  you  were  going  away  in  the  galley,  to 
see  me  run  barefoot  on  the  bank — ? 

Satni.     Yes. 

Yaouma  [angry]  But  speak!  speak!  [Checking 
herself,  then  more  coaxing  still]  You  wanted  to  weep.'' 
No?  You  said  you  did.  For  my  part  I  know  not,  then, 
I  could  see  nothing.  But  the  day  of  your  return,  when 
you  learned  I  was  chosen  for  the  sacrifice,  then,  then  I 
saw  your  eyes  —  You  love  me  —  You  said  to  me  you 
would  prevent  me  going  to  the  Nile.  I  believed  you 
not  —  you  remember  —  Why  !  even  yesterday,  yes,  yes- 
terday again,  in  spite  of  all  your  words,  I  was  resolved 
to  escape  and  go  to  the  temple.  It  needed  this  proof 
of  your  power !  —  tell  me,  it  was  you  who  shook  the 
heavens  and  the  earth  for  me. 

Satni.     No. 

Yaouma.  Again !  —  You  must  think  but  little  of  me, 
to  believe  I  should  reveal  what  you  bade  me  keep  secret. 
[She  lays  her  hands  on  Satni's  cheeks]  It  was  you,  was 
it  not.'' 

Satni.     No,  no,  no  !   a  thousand  times  no  ! 

Yaouma.  It  was  your  gods  then,  your  gods  whom  I 
know  not. 

Satni.     No. 

Yaouma.     Who  was  it  then? 

Satni.     No  one. 

Yaouma  [out  of  countenance]  No  one!  [A  pause] 
You  possess  no  power  that  other  men  have  not? 

Satni.     No. 

Yaouma  [the  same]     You  seem  as  one  speaking  truth. 

Satni.      I  speak  the  truth. 

Yaouma.     'T  is  a  pity  ! 

Satni.     Whv? 


166  False  Gods  Act  II 

Yaouma.  It  would  have  been  more  beautiful.  [A 
long  grave  pause]  To  go  in  the  barge,  on  the  Nile,  that 
too  had  been  more  beautiful. 

Rheou  and  the  Steward  enter 

Rheov  [agitated]  Go  in,  Yaouma.  [To  the  Steward] 
Conduct  her  to  her  mistress  —  and  make  known  to  her 
what  has  passed.  [Yaouma  and  the  Steward  go  out] 
Satni,  terrible  news  has  come  to  me:  the  Pharaoh,  find- 
ing the  people's  enmity  increase  against  him,  has  taken 
fright,  and  striking  first,  the  blow  has  fallen  on  me. 
My  goods  are  confiscated.  I  am  sent  to  exile.  The  pal- 
ace Chamberlain,  but  now,  brought  me  the  order  to  quit 
my  house  to-day,  and  deliver  myself  to  the  army  leaving 
for  Ethiopia. 

Satni.     Can  you  do  nothing  against  this  order? 

Rheou.     Yes.     I  can  kill  those  who  gave  it. 

Satni,     Kill ! 

Rheou.  Listen.  I  bring  you  the  means  to  win  the 
triumph  of  your  ideas,  and  at  the  same  time  serve  my 
cause.  I  can  arm  all  the  dwellers  on  my  lands.  We 
two  must  lead  them.  They  will  follow  you,  knowing 
you  all  powerful.  Nay,  hear  me  —  wait.  The  soldiers, 
who  fear  you,  will  not  dare  resist  us,  we  shall  kill  the 
high  priest,  the  Pharaoh  if  need  be  —  we  shall  be  mas- 
ters of  Egypt. 

Satni.     I  would  not  kill. 

Rheou.  So  be  it.  Enough  that  you  declare  yourself 
ready  to  repeat  the  miracle  of  yesterday. 

Satni.     I  would  not  lie. 

Rheou.  If  you  would  neither  kill  nor  lie,  you  will 
never  succeed  in  governing  men. 

Satni.  I  would  fight  the  priests  of  Ammon,  not 
imitate  them. 

Rheou.  You  will  never  triumph  without  doing  so. 
Profit  by  events.  Do  not  deny  the  power  they  believe 
to  be  yours.    Men  will  not  follow  you,  if  you  speak  only 


Act  II  False  Gods  167 

to  their  reason.  You  are  above  the  crowd  by  your  learn- 
ing; that  gives  you  rights.  You  would  lead  them  to 
the  summits ;  to  get  there,  one  must  blindfold  those  who 
suffer  from  dizziness. 

Satni.     I  refuse. 

Rheou.     One  would  think  j^ou  were  afraid  of  victory  ! 

Satni.  Rheou,  't  is  not  the  victory  of  my  ideas  you 
seek,  't  is  your  own  vengeance,  your  own  ambition. 

Rheou.  They  wish  to  rush  the  people  of  Egypt  into 
an  unjust  and  useless  war.  They  hesitate;  they  feel 
the  people  lacking  zest,  that  is  why  they  have  delayed 
the  going  of  the  army  till  the  feast  of  Prodigies.  To- 
morrow they  will  make  the  goddess  speak,  and  all  those 
poor  creatures  will  be  led  away.  You  can  save  thou- 
sands of  lives  by  sacrificing  a  few. 

Satni.  I  refuse.  The  truth  will  prevail  without 
help  from  cruelty  or  falsehood. 

Rheou.  Never.  The  crowd  is  not  a  woman  to  be 
won  by  loud  wooing,  but  one  who  must  be  taken  by  force, 
whom  you  must  dominate  before  you  can  persuade. 

Satni.     Say  no  more,  Rheou,  I  refuse. 

Rheou.     Blind !     Fool !     Coward ! 

Mieris  enters,  led  hy  Yaouma.  A  moment  later  some 
men  —  Biiiou,  Sokiti,  Nourm. 

MiERis.  Rheou!  —  where  are  you?  where  are  you.'' 
\^Yaouma  leads  her  toward  him^  It  is  true,  this  that 
I  hear .''  —  Exile  —  Misery  .f* 

Rheou.     It  is  true. 

MiERis.  Courage  —  As  for  me,  a  palace  or  a  cottage 
—  I  know  not  the  one  from  the  other. 

Rheou  [to  Satni]     Satni,  can  you  still  refuse? 

Satni.  You  torture  me !  No,  I  will  not  be  credited 
with  power  that  is  not  mine ;  to  stir  men  up  against  their 
fellows  —  I  would  not  kill,  I  tell  you. 

Mieris.  I  understand  you,  Satni  —  it  is  wrong  to 
kill !  —  But    look    once    more    upon    me  —  I    am    poor 


168  False  Gods  Act  II 

now,  I  am  going  away,  will  you  not  consent  to  heal 
me? 

Satni  [anguished}  Mieris  —  Could  I  have  healed 
you,  would  it  not  be  done  already? 

Mieris.  You  can  do  it !  I  know  you  can  do  it ! 
Work  a  miracle. 

Yaouma.  a  miracle !  Show  that  your  god  is  more 
powerful  than  our  gods. 

A  Man  [who  has  just  entered]     Heal  us ! 

Satni.     I  am  not  able. 

Another.     Work  a  miracle. 

Satni.     There  are  no  miracles ! 

A  Man,  Then  your  gods  are  less  mighty  than 
ours. 

Satni.     Yours  do  not  exist. 

The  People   [terrified  at  the  blasphemy]     Oh ! 

A  Man.  Why  do  you  lead  us  away  from  our  gods,  if 
you  have  no  others  to  give  us  ? 

Another.     You  shall  not  insult  our  gods ! 

Another.  We  will  hand  you  over  to  the  priests  lest 
the  gods  smite  us  for  hearing  you ! 

Another.     Ammon  will  chastise  us ! 

Satni.     No. 

A  Man.     Isis  will  abandon  us ! 

Satni.     It  will  not  make  you  more  wretched. 

Another.  Then  show  us  you  are  stronger  than  our 
gods. 

Mieris.     A  miracle ! 

Rheou.     He  is  stronger  than  our  gods!  \  rrp       ,i     -, 

Yaouma.     A  miracle  or  I  die!  J  '-      "  -' 

Satni.  You  demand  it!  You  demand  a  miracle. 
Well,  then,  you  shall  have  one,  I  will  do  this,  but  in 
the  presence  of  all !  Go !  go !  go  throughout  the  do- 
mains —  bring  hither  those  you  find  bowed  on  the  earth, 
or  hung  to  poles  for  drawing  water.  Go  you  others, 
summon  the  slaves,  the  piteous  workers  —  call  hither 


Act  II  False  Gods  169 

the  drawers  of  stones,  bid  them  drop  the  ropes  that  flay 
their  shoulders,  bid  them  come. 

MiERis.     What  would  you  do? 

Satni,     Convince  them. 

MiERis.     Now  of  a  sudden,  brutally? 

Satni.     Brutally. 

Rheou.     Do  you  believe  them  ready? 

Satni.     You  are  afraid. 

Rheou.  Day  comes  not  suddenly  on  night,  between 
them  is  the  dawn. 

Delethi  leads  Mieris  right  under  the  peristyle. 

Satni.  I  would  have  day,  broad  daylight  —  Now, 
at  once,  for  all !  'T  is  a  crime  to  promise  them  reward 
for  their  suffering.  How  do  we  know  that  they  will 
ever  be  paid? 

Rheou.     They  are  so  miserable  — 

Satni.  The  truth  —  is  the  truth  good  only  for  the 
rich?  Will  you  add  that  injustice  to  all  the  others? 
Behold  them!  '[Gradually  the  slaves  and  workers  of 
all  kinds  have  entered  till  they  fill  the  stage.  Amongst 
them  Pakh,  Sokiti,  Bitiou  the  Dwarfs  Yes,  behold 
them,  the  victims,  behold  the  wretched !  I  know  you 
all.  You,  you  are  shepherd,  you  are  worse  nourished 
than  your  flocks,  and  your  beasts,  at  least,  are  not  given 
blows.  They  do  not  beat  the  cows  nor  the  sheep.  You, 
you  sow  and  you  reap;  beneath  the  sun,  tortured  by 
flies,  you  gather  abundant  crops.  You  sleep  in  a  hole. 
Others  eat  the  corn  you  made  grow,  and  sleep  on  precious 
stuffs.  You,  you  are  forever  drawing  water  from  the 
Nile;  betwixt  you  and  the  ox  they  harness  to  another 
machine,  there  is  no  difference,  and  yet  you  are  a  man. 
You,  you  are  one  of  those  who  drag  great  stones,  to 
build  the  monuments  of  pride.  You  are  a  digger  in  the 
tombs,  you  live  a  month  or  more  without  sight  of  day. 
To  glorify  the  death  of  others,  you  give  your  life.  You 
are  a  trainer  of  lions  for  war;   your  father  was  eaten  — 


170  False  Gods  Act  II 

they  would  have  wept  had  the  lion  died  —  How  can 
it  be  that  you  accept  all  this,  when  you  see  beside  you 
happiness  without  work,  and  abundance  without  el¥ort? 
I  will  tell  you.  'T  is  because,  in  the  name  of  the  god 
Ammon-Ra,  they  have  said  to  you:  "  Have  patience,  this 
injustice  will  last  but  a  life-time."  Fools!  nothing  but 
that !  All  the  time  you  are  on  earth,  suffer,  produce  for 
others.  Content  ye  with  hunger,  you  who  produce  food. 
Content  ye  with  worse  usage  than  the  swine,  you  who 
have  guard  of  them.  Content  ye  to  sleep  in  the  open, 
you  who  build  palaces  and  temples.  Content  ye  with  all 
miseries,  you  carvers  of  gold,  and  setters  of  precious 
stones.  Look  without  envy,  without  anger,  on  the  wel- 
fare of  those  who  do  nothing,  all  this  will  last  only  the 
whole  of  your  lives !  After,  in  another  world,  you  shall 
have  the  fulness  of  all  the  crops,  and  the  joy  of  all  the 
pleasures.  Well,  they  lied  to  you:  there  is  no  island 
of  souls,  there  are  no  happy  fields,  there  is  no  life  of 
atonement  after  this.  [Loud  murmurs]  They  have 
set  up  these  gods  for  your  servile  adoration;  they  have 
counselled  you :  "  Bow  down,  these  gods  will  avenge 
you."  They  have  said:  "  Prostrate  yourselves,  these 
gods  are  just."  They  have  said:  "  Throw  yourselves  to 
earth,  these  gods  are  good."  They  have  declared  them 
all  powerful;  shut  them  in  sanctuaries  of  awful  gloom, 
whence  you  are  shown  them  once  a  year,  to  keep  alive 
your  terror  of  the  Gods ;  and  last,  they  have  made  you 
believe  no  man  may  touch  these  images  and  live.  I  tell 
you  they  lied  —  I  will  show  you  they  lied  to  you.  Be- 
hold the  most  mighty  Ammon  —  the  father  of  the  gods 
—  I  spit  my  hate  at  him  !  Thou  art  but  an  idol ;  I  curse 
thee  for  evil  men  have  done  in  thy  name !  I  curse  thee 
in  the  name  of  all  the  enslaved,  in  the  name  of  all  those 
they  have  cheated  with  hopes  of  an  avenging  life;  in 
the  name  of  all  who  for  thousands  of  years  have  groaned 
and  wept;    suffered  insult,  outrage,  blows,  death,  with- 


Act  II  False  Gods  171 

out  thought  of  revolt,  because  promises  made  in  thy 
name  had  soothed  their  rage  to  sleep !  And  I  curse 
thee  for  the  sorrow  that  now  fills  me,  and  for  the  ills 
that  must  come  even  of  thy  going !  Die !  [He  throws 
a  stool  in  the  face  of  the  statue]  You  others  do  as  I. 
Go,  climb  their  pedestals  !  Lay  hold  of  their  hands,  they 
are  lifeless  !  Strike,  't  is  but  an  image !  Spit  in  their 
faces,  they  are  senseless  !  Strike  !  Ruin !  All  this  is 
nothing  but  hardened  mud ! 

The  crowd  which  had  punctuated  the  words  of  Satni 
with  cries  and  murmurs  has  approached  the  statues  be- 
hind him  and  followed  his  example,  blaspheming,  and 
howling  with  fury.  The  more  courageous  begin,  being 
hoisted  to  the  pedestals,  the  rest  follow  suit.  The  gods 
are  overthrown. 

Rheou.  Now,  let  them  open  my  granaries,  that  each 
may  help  himself;  and  take  from  my  flocks  to  sate 
you  all. 

Cries  of  joy,  they  go  out  slowly.  Bitiou  in  the  mean- 
time approaches  an  overthrown  statue  and  still  half- 
afraid,  kicks  it.  He  tries  to  run,  falls,  picks  himself  up, 
then  seeing  that  decidedly  there  is  no  danger,  seats  him- 
self on  the  stomach  of  the  goddess  Thoueris  and  bursts 
into  a  peal  of  triumphant  bestial  laughter. 

BiTiou.     Ah!    Ah!    Ah!    Ah!    Ah!    Ah!    Ah!    Ah! 

Then  he  perceives  the  little  statue  of  Isis  which 
Mieris  shields  with  her  arms,  points  it  out  to  a  couple 
of  men  who  advance  to  it. 

Delethi.     Mistress,  they  would  take  Isis ! 

Mieris  [in  tears]     Let  me  keep  her  — 

Rheou.     No,  Mieris. 

Mieris   [letting  go]     Take  her —     [Then]     Stay! 

Rheou.     Wherefore? 

Mieris.  Can  you  part  from  her,  and  feel  nothing.'' 
Even  now,  Satni,  in  denouncing  the  gods  to  the  fury 
of  the  crowd,  you  did  not  say  everj'-thing  —  You,  who 


172  False  Gods  Act  II 

can  see  her^  behold  this  little  image,  think  how  many 
tears  were  shed  before  her,  in  the  years  since  she  was 
made.  She  has  been  ours  for  generations.  Call  up  the 
countless  crowds  of  those  who  have  fixed  their  anxious 
looks  upon  her  eyes,  dead  even  as  mine  are.  It  is  for 
all  the  anguish  she  has  looked  upon,  we  must  respect  her. 
Tears  make  holy.  I  doubt  not  you  are  right:  she  must 
be  broken  too  —  but  not  without  farewell.  [To  Yaouma] 
Where  is  she,  Yaouma?  I  would  say  my  last  prayer 
to  her.  [To  the  statue]  Oh,  thou  who  didst  not  heal, 
but  didst  console  me;  O  thou  who  hast  heard  so  many 
entreaties  and  thanksgivings,  thou  art  but  clay !  Yet 
men  have  given  thee  life ;  thy  life  was  not  in  thee,  it 
was  in  them  —  and  the  proof  is  that  thou  diest,  now 
they  have  taken  their  soul  from  thee.  I  give  thee  over 
to  those  who  would  break  thee,  but  I  revere  thee,  I 
salute  thee,  and  I  thank  thee  for  all  the  hope  thou  hast 
given  me;  and  I  thank  thee  in  the  name  of  all  the  sor- 
rows that  thou  hast  sent  to  sleep.  [To  the  men]  Take 
her  hence  —  let  them  destroy  her  with  respect. 
They  take  Isis  away. 

Satni.  There  is  nothing  so  sad  or  so  great  as  the 
death  of  a  god !  [A  pause.  To  Yaouma,  who  comes 
through  the  crowd]  Behold,  Yaouma !  The  gods  are 
dead  and  I  live  —  behold  them !  Do  you  believe  me  — 
do  you  believe  me  ? 

Sadly  Yaouma  looks  at  the  broken  statues,  then  bursts 
into  tears  before  Satni,  who  stands  amazed. 

Curtain 


ACT    III 

Scene  :  —  The  yard  in  front  of  the  potter's  hut.  On 
the  right  from  the  middle  of  the  hack  of  the  scene  to  the 
footlights,  the  walls  of  the  dwelling  made  of  beaten  clay. 
Two  unequal  doors.  The  wall  is  slightly  raised  sup- 
porting a  terrace  where  pottery  of  all  hinds  is  drying  in 
the  sun.  Left,  a  wall  of  loose  stones  high  enough  to 
lean  on.  Between  the  wall  and  the  house  an  opening 
leading  to  an  invisible  inclined  plane  that  descends  to 
the  Nile,  the  water  and  opposite  hank  of  xvhich  are  vis- 
ible. Behind  the  house  and  on  the  right  groups  of  lofty 
palms.  The  whole  is  abject  misery  beneath  the  splen- 
dor of  a  heaven  blazing  with  light. 

Kirjipa,  crouching  down,  is  grinding  corn  between  a 
large  and  a  small  stone.  Satni  is  seated  on  the  wall 
dreaming. 

Kirjipa.     Son. 

Satni.     Mother. 

Kirjipa.  And  so  you  do  not  believe  that  when  the 
moon  grows  little  by  little  less,  't  is  because  it  is  eaten 
by  a  pig? 

Satni.     No,  mother. 

Kirjipa.     Then  what  beast  eats  it? 

Satni.     None. 

Kirjipa  [laughing]  You  have  ideas  that  are  not 
reasonable.  What  makes  me  marvel,  is  that  your  father 
seems  to  understand  them.  I  must  haste  to  make  the 
bread,  that  he  find  it  when  he  returns. 

173 


174  False  Gods  Act  III 

Satni.     Here  comes  the  messenger  from  Rheou. 

KiRJiPA  ^horrified]  The  messenger  of  him  who  kills 
the  gods. 

Satni.     We  do  not  kill  what  has  no  life. 

KiRJiPA.  I  would  not  see  him.  [She\  picks  up  her 
corn]. 

Satni.     Why  ? 

KiRJiPA.     Brrr! —  [To  herself]     To-morrow  I  shall 
burn  some  sacred  herbs  here.     [She  goes  out]. 
The  Steward  enters. 

Steward.  Satni,  I  have  been  seeking  you.  Since 
this  morning  unhappy  things  have  come  to  pass  — 

Satni.  Yaouma  is  not  in  danger,  or  Mieris,  or 
Rheou .'' 

Steward.     No.     All  three  are  safe  in  the  palace. 

Satni.     Well  ^ 

Steward.  You  remember  the  order  the  master  gave 
me  this  morning,  after  the  death  of  the  gods .'' 

Satni.     No. 

Steward.     Yes,  to  open  his  granaries  to  all. 

Satni.     Yes,  yes,  welLf* 

Steward.  When  I  went  to  obey,  to  my  amazement 
I  beheld  the  men  stand  by  the  door  in  earnest  converse, 
then  without  entering  they  withdrew.  This  is  what  hap- 
pened. They  went  to  the  house  of  the  neighboring  mas- 
ter, roused  his  servants  and  laborers,  and  strove  to  force 
them  to  overthrow  the  statues  of  his  gods,  and  rob  him 
of  his  corn.  They  killed  his  steward.  Soldiers  came  — 
Nepk  had  been  killed,  others  too.  Then  all  were  scat- 
tered. The  master  sent  me  to  bid  you  reason  with  those 
whom  you  might  find.  Look !  there  are  some  who  have 
taken  refuge  here!  [To  some  men  who  are  outside] 
Enter  —  come  —  Satni  would  speak  with  you ! 

Bitiou,  Sokiti,  and  Nourm  appear  behind  the  wall. 
Bitiou  comes  in. 

Satni  [To  Bitiou]     Whither  go  you? 


Act  III  False  Gods  175 

Steward.     Whither  go  you?     Whence  come  you? 

BiTiou.     I  followed  the  others  — 

Steward.     Whence  come  you? 

BiTiou.  I  came  back  with  the  others,  Sokiti  and 
Nourm. 

Satni.     Where  are  they? 

BiTiou.     There. 

Steward,     Bid  them  enter. 

Satni  [going  to  the  door]     Sokiti,  Nourm,  come. 
Sokiti  and  Nourm  enter  awkwardly. 

Steward.     Why  do  you  hide  yourselves? 

Nourm.  We  do  not  hide  from  you,  but  from  the 
Lybian  soldiers. 

Satni.     Why  do  you  fear  them? 

Sokiti.     Because  they  are  chasing  us. 

Steward.     And  why  are  they  chasing  you? 
The  three  men  look  at  each  other. 

Satni.     Bitiou,  answer. 

BiTiou.    Bitiou  knows  not. 

Steward  [to  the  others]     You  know  it,  you. 

Nourm.     They  took  us  for  the  others. 

Satni.     What  others? 

Nourm.  Perhaps  they  took  us  for  the  servants  of 
the  neighboring  master. 

Steward.  They  have  done  mischief,  then,  the 
servants  of  the  neighboring  master?  [Pause]  Answer 
—  you! 

Nourm  [to  Satni]  They  did  that  at  his  house,  that 
you  made  us  do  at  yours. 

Steward.     The  priests  heard  of  it? 

Nourm.     No,  but  the  master  sent  for  the  soldiers. 

Satni.     Only  for  that! 

Nourm.     I  know  not. 

Satni.  Had  there  been  nothing  else,  he  would  not 
have  sent  for  the  I.ybian  soldiers.  He  knew  our  proj- 
ects —  he  is  with  us.     There  is  something  else,  eh !  — 


176  False  Gods  Act  III 

Bitiou  yawns  loudly. 

SoKiTi.     Yes. 

Satni.     What  ? 

SoKiTi  [to  Nourm]     Tell. 

NouRM.  They  were  angered  with  the  master.  He 
was  bad,  the  master. 

Steward.  He  is  hard,  but  he  gives  much  to  those 
who  have  nothing. 

SoKiTi.  He  gave  here,  that  he  might  receive  here- 
after. 

NouRM.     After  his  death. 

Satni.     And  now  he  gives  no  more? 

NouRM.     Nothing. 

Satni.     Ah ! 

BiTiou.  Nothing  —  and  so,  all  stomachs  empty,  very 
much.     l^He  laughs]. 

NouRM.     He  gives  only  blows  of  the  stick  now. 

SoKiTi  Iwith  conviction]  One  cannot  live  on  that 
alone. 

NouRM.     And  so  his  servants  asked  him  for  corn.'' 

BiTiou.     No  good  —  only  blows  of  the  stick. 

Steward.  They  took  the  corn  that  was  refused 
them  ? 

BiTiou   [laughing]     Hunger!     [A  gesture]. 

Satni.     You  knew  they  were  going  to  do  that? 

SoKiTi.     Yes. 

Satni.     It  was  for  that  you  went  to  join  them? 

NouRM.     Yes. 

Steward.     Why  ? 

Nourm.  It  came  into  our  heads  like  this :  better  not 
take  corn  from  the  good  master,  but  take  it  from  the 
bad  one. 

SoKiTi.     Justice ! 

BiTiou  [to  the  Steward]  You  content.  You  still  got 
all  your  corn. 

He  laughs,  his  comrades  laugh  with  him. 


Act  III  False  Gods  177 

NouRM.     You,  we  like  you. 

BiTiou.     You  —  good !    We  —  good ! 

SoKiTi.     See! 

BiTiou  {^collecting  two  ideas^  Wait:  neighboring 
master  bad.  They  bad.  {To  the  others]  Heh?  — 
Heh?  —  you  see  —  Heh?  Heh?  [All  three  draw 
themselves  up  proudly  and  laugh]  And  the  steward 
he  bad,  he  dead  —  well  done  ! 

Satni.     What  would  he  say? 

SoKiTi  [laughing]  They  took  the  steward  and  then 
—    [Chokes  with  laughter]. 

NouRM.  They  gave  him  back  all  the  blows  of  the 
stick  they  had  had  from  him. 

Satni.     You  saw  that? 

NouRM.     Yes. 

SoKiTi  [proudly]     Me  too,  me  too  — 

BiTiou.  I  laugh  very  much  —  because  —  because  — 
Steward,  very  big,  strong,  and  then  when  very  much 
beaten,  fell  down  —  fell  on  the  ground  —  like  me  !  like 
me!  He,  big,  he  fell  down  just  the  same  —  he  like 
Bitiou  —  I  very  glad.  [During  what  follows  he  plays 
with  his  foot]. 

Steward.     What  they  have  done  is  bad. 

NouRM.  No.  The  steward  had  been  happy  all  his 
life.     He  was  old. 

SoKiTi.  He  was  old.  So  't  is  not  bad  to  have  killed 
him  —  He  had  finished  —  He  was  fat  —  and  he  had 
lost  his  appetite  — 

NouRM.  Only  just,  he  should  leave  his  place  to 
another. 

Satni.     We  must  not  kill. 

SoKiTi.     What  does  that  mean? 

NouRM.  Yes,  kill  a  good  one,  that  is  bad.  But  kill 
a  bad  one,  that  is  good. 

Satni.     And  if  you  are  mistaken? 

SoKiTi.     No,  he  is  bad,  I  kill  him. 


178  False  Gods    .  Act  III 

Satni,  What  if  he  be  not  bad^  and  you  think 
him  so? 

SoKiTi.     If  he  were  not  bad,  I  should  not  think  it. 

Steward.  You  do  not  understand  —  Listen,  I  am 
not  bad,  am  I.'' 

SoKiTi.     But  we  do  not  want  to  kill  you. 

Steward.  Let  me  speak.  You  remember  Kob  the 
black.     He  thought  me  bad. 

NouRM.     Yes. 

Steward.     And  if  he  had  killed  me? 

SoKiTi.     We  are  not  blacks  — 

Steward.  You  do  not  understand  me.  Consider. 
He  thought  me  bad.  I  am  not  bad.  What  you  were 
saying,  would  justify  him  if  he  had  killed  me. 

They  consider. 

Sokiti.  I  understand.  You  say:  If  the  slave  had 
killed  me  —  no,  it  is  not  that. 

Satni.     Human  life  must  be  respected. 

Gravely  they  make  sign  of  acquiescence,  to  escape 
further  torment.  Nourm  picks  up  a  package  he  had 
brought  and  turns  to  go  out  unobserved. 

Steward.     What  are  you  carrying  there? 

Nourm.     Nothing,  't  is  mine  — 

BiTiou.  That  is  a  necklace  —  show.  [Begins  to  open 
the  package^. 

Nourm.     Yes,  a  necklace. 

Satni.     From  whom  did  you  take  it? 

Nourm.     From  the  neighboring  master. 

Satni.     Do  you  think  you  did  well? 

Nourm  [hesitating]     Why  —  yes. 

Satni.     You  are  wrong. 

Nourm.     Be  not  afraid,  no  one  saw  me. 

Satni.     It  is  wrong. 

Nourm.  No.  What  can  wrong  me,  is  wrong.  Since 
no  one  saw  me,  they  will  not  punish  me.  So  it  is  not 
wrong. 


Act  III  False  Gods  179 

Satni.  Wrong  not  to  you,  but  to  the  neighboring 
master. 

NouRM.     He  has  many  others. 

SoKiTi.  Has  had  them  for  years,  he  has !  Nourm 
never  had  one.  Not  just.  I,  I  never  had,  this —  [He 
holds  up,  a  bracelet^. 

Satni,     You  have  taken  this  bracelet ! 

SoKiTi  [delighted]     It  is  mine. 

Satni.     We  are  content. 

They  laugh. 

Nourm.     And  Bitiou  — 

Satni  and  Sokiti.     Yes,  Bitiou  — 

Nourm.     He  took  the  best  thing. 

Steward.     What  ? 

Bitiou.     A  woman. 

Steward.     By  force  ? 

Bitiou.  No  woman  would  come  willingly  with 
Bitiou. 

SoKiTi.     But  she  escaped  from  him. 

Bitiou.     Yes.     [He  weeps], 

Satni.  You  must  give  back  the  necklace  and  this 
bracelet  to  the  neighboring  master. 

Nourm.     Give  back,  but  he  has  others ! 

Satni.  You  cannot  make  yourself  the  judge  of  that. 
If  you  were  selling  perfumes,  for  instance,  would  you 
think  it  natural  that  a  man  should  come  and  take  them 
from  you,  because  you  had  plenty  and  he  had  none? 

Nourm.     You  tell  me  hard  things. 

Satni.     You  must  give  back  this  bracelet,  Sokiti. 

Sokiti.     Yes,  master. 

Satni.     And  you  the  necklace. 

Nourm.     Yes,  master. 

xi  sorrowful  pause. 

Satni.  See,  you  are  sad.  You  perceive  that  you  did 
wrong. 

Sokiti.     Yes,  we  did  wrong  — 


180  False  Gods  Act  III 

Satni.     Ah ! 

SoKiTi.  We  did  wrong  to  tell  you  what  we  did,  be- 
cause you  are  not  pleased. 

Satni.     'T  is  for  your  sake  I  am  grieved. 

NouRM.  Then  you  have  not  told  the  truth;  there  is 
a  hell,  and  there  is  an  island  of  souls. 

Satni.     No. 

NouRM.  If  the  gods  do  not  punish,  and  men,  not 
having  seen,  do  not  punish  either  —  [Pause]  Well  — 
I  shall  give  it  back. 

SoKiTi.  I,  I  shall  not  give  back.  Not  stolen.  An- 
other, a  servant  of  the  neighboring  master  stole  the 
bracelet,  not  I ! 

Steward.     Yet  't  is  you  who  have  it. 

SoKiTi.     I  took  it  from  the  other. 

Steward.     He  let  you  do  it? 

SoKiTi.     Yes.    Could  not  help  it,  he  was  wounded. 

Satni.     You  should  have  succored  him. 

SoKiTi.     I  did  not  know  him. 

Satni.     He  was  a  man  like  you. 

SoKiTi.     There  are  plenty  of  them. 

Satni.     We  must  do  good  to  others. 

SoKiTi.     What  good  will  that  do  to  me? 

Satni.     You  will  be  content  with  yourself. 

SoKiTi.     I  would  rather  have  the  bracelet  — 

Satni.  It  is  only  by  refraining  from  doing  one  an- 
other harm  that  mankind  may  hope  to  gain  happiness; 
nay  more,  only  by  lending  one  another  aid.  Do  you 
understand  ? 

SoKiTi  [gloomily]     Yes. 

Satni.     And  you,  and  you  — 

NouRM  AND  BiTiou  [in  different  tones]     Yes,  yes. 

Steward  [to  Sokiti]     Repeat  it  then. 

SoKiTi.     If  men  did  not  steal  bracelets  — 

Steward.     Well? 

SoKiTi.     Bracelets — [He  laughs]. 


Act  III  False  Gods  181 

Satni  [to  Nourm]     And  you? 

NouRM.     He  was  wrong  to  take  the  bracelet. 

Satni.     Why  ? 

Nourm.     Because  you  are  not  pleased. 

Satni.     No,  no,  't  is  not  for  that. 

SoKiTi.     I  was  not  wrong  — 

NouRM,  Yes  !  wait !  I  understand  —  If  you  steal, 
another  may  steal  from  you.     Likewise  if  you  kill  — 

Satni.     Right.     And  why  is  it  necessary  to  be  good.'' 

NouRM.  Wait  [To  Sokiti]  If  you  do  good  to  one 
whom  you  know  not,  another  who  knows  you  not,  may 
do  good  to  you. 

Steward.  Ah  !  —  Do  you  understand,  Sokiti  ? 

SoKiTi.      I  think  so. 

Satni.     Explain. 

SoKiTi  [after  a  great  effort]  You  do  not  want  us  to 
steal  bracelets  from  you  — 

Satni.  I  do  not  want  you  to  steal  from  any  one  — 
Do  you  understand.'' 

SOKITI.       No. 

Steward  [to  Bitiou,  who  listens  open-mouthed]  And 
you? 

BiTiou.     I  —  I  have  a  pain  in  my  head  — 

Satni  comes  to  the  Steward.    Bitiou  and  SoJciti  slip  off. 

Steward.     Look  at  them  — 

Satni.  The  tree  that  was  bent  from  its  birth,  not 
in  one  day  can  you  make  it  straight? 

Steward.  We  must  leave  it  what  it  is,  or  tear  it 
down? 

Satni.  No,  we  must  seek  patiently  to  straighten  it. 
[With  feeling]  And  above  all  we  must  keep  straight 
those  that  are  young. 

Cries  are  heard  outside. 

Steward.     What  cries  are  those? 

Satni.     Women  in  distress. 

Yaouma  enters,  leading  Mieris.     Both  are  agitated. 


182  False  Gods  Act  III 

Yaouma.  Come,  mistress  —  come  —  We  are  at  the 
house  of  the  potter,  the  father  of  Satni  —  Satni  help  — 
quick!   quick!     Run!   your  father,  Satni! 

Satni.     Mieris,  Yaouma,  how  come  you  here? 

Yaouma.     They  will  tell  you  —  go  ! 

MiERis.  Fly  to  the  rescue,  he  is  wounded !  —  I  have 
sent  to  the  palace  for  those  who  drive  out  the  evil 
spirits. 

Yaouma.     We  were  set  upon  by  some  men. 

MiERis.  He  defended  us  —  But  they  will  kill  him  — 
go! 

Satni  and  the  Steward  seize  some  arms  left  by  Nourm 
and  run  out. 

MiERis.  Yaouma !  He  is  wounded !  Wounded  in 
saving  us  — 

Yaouma.     Alas ! 

MiERis  [listening]     Who  is  there.'' 

NouRM.     I,  mistress. 

MiERis.  Nourm !  Run  to  the  palace,  bid  them  send 
hither  those  who  drive  forth  the  evil  spirits  — 

Yaouma.  Alas !  mistress,  I  do  fear  —  already  he 
has  fallen  —  struck  to  earth. 

MiERis.  They  will  save  him,  they  will  bear  him 
hither  — 

Yaouma.    Will  they  bear  him  hither  alive? 

MiERis  [to  Nourm]  Rim!  —  You  hear!  —  Run  to 
the  palace,  bid  those  who  assist  at  the  last  hour  be  ready 
to  come.  If  he  have  died  defending  us,  the  same  hon- 
ors shall  be  paid  him  as  though  ourselves  were  dead ! 
Go !  [Nourm  goes  out.  A  pause]  Now,  Yaouma,  lead 
me  out  upon  the  road  to  the  Nile. 

Yaouma.  Mistress,  you  seek  to  die?  Many  then 
must  be  your  sorrows  ! 

MiERis.  Alas !  Alas !  Why  did  you  discover  my 
flight?  Why  did  you  seek  me,  find  me,  and  bring  me 
back  — 


Act  III  False  Gods  183 

Yaouma.     Had  I  not  guessed  your  purpose? 

MiERis.     What  have  I  left  to  live  for? 

Yaouma.  You  have  lived  all  these  years  in  spite  of 
your  affliction,  what  is  there  that  is  changed? 

MiERis.  What  is  there  that  is  changed !  You  ask 
me  what  is  changed !  Until  now  I  lived  in  the  hope  of 
a  miracle. 

Yaouma.     Perhaps  it  would  never  have  come. 

MiERis.  Even  at  my  last  hour  I  should  have  still 
looked  for  it. 

Yaouma.  Then  you  would  have  died  believing  in  a 
lie  —  if  what  they  say  be  true. 

MiERis.  What  matter,  I  had  smiled  as  I  died,  think- 
ing death  but  the  journey  to  a  land  where  my  lost  child 
was  waiting  for  me.  The  death  of  a  child !  No  mother 
ever  can  believe,  at  heart,  in  that.  It  is  too  unjust  — 
too  cruel  to  be  possible.  One  says  to  oneself:  it  is  but 
a  separation !  Oh !  Satni,  thy  doctrines  may  be  the 
truth.  But  they  declare  this  separation  eternal;  they 
make  the  death  of  our  loved  ones  final,  irreparable,  hor- 
rible, therefore  I  foretell  thee  this:  Women  will  never 
believe  them !  What  is  there  that  is  changed  ?  —  Yes- 
terday, children  came  playing  close  to  us.  You  know 
how  their  cries  and  laughter  made  me  glad  —  the  voice 
of  one  of  them  was  like  the  voice  of  mine.  I  made  him 
come,  I  put  out  my  hand,  in  the  old  way.  I  felt,  at  the 
old  height,  tossed  hair,  and  the  warmth  of  a  living  body. 
And  I  did  not  weep,  but  my  voice  spoke  in  my  heart  and 
said:  "  Little  child,  thy  years  are  as  many  as  his,  whom 
she-who-loves-the-silence  took  from  me.  But  in  Amenti, 
where  he  is,  in  the  island  of  souls,  he  is  happier  than 
thou,  for  he  is  safe  from  all  the  ills  that  threaten  thee. 
He  is  happier  than  thou.  He  lives  beneath  a  sun  of 
gold,  amid  flowers  of  strange  beauty,  and  perfumed 
baths  refresh  him.  And  when  she-who-loves-the-silence 
takes  me  in  my  turn,  /  shall  see  him,  I  shall  see  him  for 


184  False  Gods  Act  III 

the  first  time  —  and  I  shall  fondle  him  as  I  fondle  thee, 
and  none,  then,  may  put  us  asunder.  Go,  little  child, 
the  happy  ones  are  not  on  this  side  of  the  earth !  Now 
have  I  lost  the  hope  of  a  better  life  before  death,  and 
the  hope  of  a  better  life  beyond  as  well.  If  you  took 
both  crutches  from  a  cripple,  he  would  fall.  Only  this 
twofold  hope  sustained  me.  They  have  taken  it  from 
me.  And  so,  it  is  the  end,  it  is  the  end  —  't  is  as  though 
I  were  fallen  from  a  height,  I  am  broken,  I  have  no 
strength  left  to  bear  with  life:  I  tell  you,  it  is  the  end, 
it  is  the  end ! 

Yaouma  [with  intense  fervor]  Mistress,  they  speak 
not  the  truth ! 

MiERis.  Our  gods,  did  they  exist,  would  already 
have  taken  vengeance. 

Yaouma.  Before  the  outrage,  already,  they  had  taken 
vengeance  on  you. 

MiERis.  Good  Yaouma,  you  would  give  me  back  my 
faith,  you  who  could  not  keep  your  own. 

Yaouma.  Mistress,  I  lied  to  you;  nothing  is  de- 
stroyed in  me. 

MiERis.  You  refuse  to  give  yourself  in  sacrifice !  — 
Oh,  you  are  right  .  .  . 

Yaouma.     I  do  not  refuse. 

MiERis.     You  do  not ! 

Yaouma.  No.  Know  you  how  I  learned,  a  while 
ago,  that  you  were  gone  ? 

MiERIS.      How.'' 

Yaouma.     I,  too,  was  seeking  to  escape. 

MiERis.     You? 

Yaouma.  To  go  to  the  temple,  to  place  myself  in 
hands  of  the  priests,  to  give  to  Ammon  the  victim  he  has 
chosen. 

MiERis.     Do  you  believe  in  all  these  fables  still? 

Yaouma  [in  a  low  voice']     Mistress,  I  have  seen  Isis. 

MiERis.     Has  one  of  her  images  been  spared  then? 


Act  III  False  Gods  185 

Yaouma.  It  was  not  an  image  that  I  saw.  It  was 
Isis  herself,  the  goddess  —  I  have  seen  her. 

MiERis.  You  —  you  have  seen  —  what  is  it?  I  know 
not  what  you  say  —  to  see  —  that  word  has  no  clear 
sense  for  me. 

Yaouma.     She  has  spoken  to  me  — 

MiERis.     You  have  heard  her  voice  — 

Yaouma.     I  have  heard  her  voice. 

MiERis.  How !  How !  —  You  were  sleeping  —  't  was 
in  a  dream  — 

Yaouma.  I  did  not  sleep.  I  did  not  dream.  I  saw 
her.  I  heard  her.  I  was  alone,  and  I  wept.  A  great 
sound  filled  me  with  terror.  A  great  light  blinded  me. 
Perfumes  unknown  ravished  my  senses.  And  I  beheld 
the  goddess,  more  beauteous  than  a  queen.  Then  all 
was  gone  — 

MiERis.     But  her  voice  — 

Yaouma.  The  next  day  she  came  again,  she  spoke 
to  me,  she  called  me  by  name  and  said  to  me:  "  Egypt 
will  be  saved  by  thee." 

MiERis.     Why  did  you  not  speak  of  it.'' 

Yaouma.     I  feared  they  would  not  believe  me. 

MiERis.  Oh,  Yaouma,  how  I  envy  you!  If  you  but 
knew  the  ill  they  have  done  me.  They  have  half  killed 
me,  killing  all  the  legends  and  all  the  memories  that 
were  mine.  They  made  me  blush  at  my  simplicity.  I 
felt  shamed  to  have  been  so  easily  fooled  by  such  gross 
make-believes.  And  now,  what  have  I  gained  by  this 
revelation .''  My  soul  is  a  house  after  the  burning,  black, 
ruined,  empty.  Nothing  is  left  but  ruins,  ruins  one 
might  laugh  at,  [In  tears]  I  am  parched  with  thirst, 
I  hunger,  I  tremble  with  cold.  They  have  made  my 
soul  blind,  too.  I  cry  out  for  help,  for  consolation.  Oh  ! 
for  a  lie,  some  other  lie,  to  replace  the  one  they  have 
taken  away  from  me ! 

Yaouma.     Why  ask  a  lie  ?    Why  not  forget  what  they 


186  raise  Gods  Act  III 

have  said.  Why  not  recall  what  you  learned  at  your 
mother's  knee  —  Why  not,  yourself,  set  up  in  your  heart 
again,  those  images  which  they  threw  down  — 

MiERis.  Yes  !  Yes  !  I  will  do  it.  They  have  awak- 
ened my  reason,  and  killed  my  faith.  I  shall  kill  my 
reason,  to  revive  our  gods.  Though  I  no  longer  believe, 
I  shall  do  the  actions  of  believers  —  and,  if  my  god  be 
false,  I  shall  believe  so  firmly  in  him  that  I  shall  make 
him  true !  —  Yes,  the  lowest,  the  most  senseless  supersti- 
tions, I  venerate  them,  I  exalt  —  I  glory  in  them  !  The 
ugliest,  the  most  deformed,  the  most  unreal  of  our  gods, 
I  adore  them,  and  I  bow  down  before  their  impossibil- 
ity. IShe  kneels]  Oh,  I  stifle  in  their  petty  narrow 
world,  sad  as  a  forest  without  birds  !  Air !  Air !  Sing- 
ing !    The  sound  of  wings  !     Things  that  fly  ! 

Yaouma  [kneeling]     Let  me  be  sacrificed ! 

MiERis.     Let  me  have  a  reason  for  living ! 

Yaouma.  I  would  give  my  life  to  the  gods  who  gave 
me  birth ! 

MiERis.  I  would  believe  that  there  is  some  one  above 
men ! 

Yaouma.     Some  one  who  watches  over  us ! 

MiERis.     Who  will  console  us  with  his  justice! 

Yaouma.     Some  one  to  cry  our  sorrows  to ! 

MiERis.     Yes,  some  one  to  pray  to,  and  to  thank ! 

Yaouma  [sobbing]  Oh !  the  pity  of  it^  to  feel  we 
were  abandoned ! 

MiERis  [throwing  herself  in  Yaouma's  arms]  I  would 
not  be  abandoned ! 

Yaouma.     We  are  not !     Gods  !     Gods  ! 

MiERis.  Gods  !  We  need  gods  !  There  are  too  many 
sorrows,  it  is  not  possible  this  earth  should  groan  as  it 
groans  beneath  a  pitiless  heaven  —  Ammon,  reveal 
thyself. 

Yaouma.  Isis,  show  thyself !  Have  pity  !  [A  pause. 
Then  in  a  hushed  voice]     Mistress,  I  think  she  is  going 


Act  III  False  Gods  187 

to    appear   to    me    again  !  —  Isis  !  —  mistress  —  do    you 
hear  — 

MiERis  llistening]     I  hear  nothing. 

Yaouma.     Singing  —  the  sound  of  harps  —  't  is  she  — 

MiERis.      I  do  not  hear  — 

Yaouma.     She  speaks  !     Yes  —  goddess  ! 

MiERis.     Do  you  see  her? 

Yaouma  [in  ecstasy]  I  see  her!  She  is  bending 
down  above  us  — 

MiERis.     O  goddess  !  — 

Yaouma.  She  is  gone  —  Mistress,  you  could  not  see 
her,  but  did  you  hear  the  sound  of  her  ieet? 

MiERis.  Yes.  I  believe  I  heard  it  —  I  believe  and  I 
am  comforted. 

Yaouma.  I  am  happy  !  To  the  temple !  She  beck- 
oned me  !     To  the  temple !    Come  ! 

They  go  up.  Rheou  meets  them  and  leads  them  away. 
Satni  enters  with  some  men  bearing  Pakh,  xvho  is 
wounded.  Kirjipa  almost  swooning  follows,  supported 
by  some  women  who  lead  her  into  the  house.  The 
Exorcist,  who  with  his  two  assistants  folloxvs  Pakh, 
takes  some  clay  from  a  coffer  carried  by  one  of  his  men, 
shapes  it  into  a  ball,  and  begins,  then,  the  incantation. 

Exorcist.  Pakh !  Son  of  Ritii !  Through  thy 
wound  an  evil  spirit  has  entered  thee.  I  am  about  to 
speak  the  words  that  shall  drive  him  out:  "  The  virtues 
of  him  who  lies  there,  and  who  suffers,  are  the  virtues 
of  the  father  of  the  gods.  The  virtues  of  his  brow  are 
the  virtues  of  the  brow  of  Thoumen.  The  virtues  of  his 
eye  are  the  virtues  of  the  eye  of  Horus,  who  destroys 
all  creatures." 

A  pause. 

Pakh.     Begone ! 

Exorcist.  His  upper  lip  is  Isis.  His  lower  lip 
is  Neptes,  his  neck  is  the  goddess,  his  teeth  are  swords, 
his    flesh    is    Osiris,    his    hands    are    divine    souls,    his 


188  False  Gods  Act  III 

fingers  are  blue  serpents,  snakes,  sons  of  the  goddess 
Sekhet  — 

Pakh.     Begone !     I  no  longer  believe  in  your  power ! 

Exorcist  [taking  a  doll  from  the  coffer]  Horus 
is  there!  Ra  is  there!  Let  them  cry  to  the  chiefs  of 
Heliopolis  — 

Pakh.     Have  done! 

He  knocks  down  the  doll  which  the  Exorcist  holds 
over  him.     The  music  stops  suddenly. 

Exorcist.  The  evil  spirits  are  strongest  in  him. 
He  will  die.  Only  his  son  has  the  right  to  be  with  him 
at  death. 

All  go  out  save  Pakh  and  Satni. 

Satni.     My  father  — 

Pakh.  You  are  there,  my  son  —  't  is  well  —  I  am 
glad  —  that  that  maker  of  spells  is  gone.  [Simply] 
Heal  me. 

Satni.  Yes,  father,  you  shall  be  healed.  But  you 
must  have  patience. 

Pakh  [simply]     Heal  me,  now,  at  once. 

Satni.     I  cannot. 

Pakh.  Why  do  you  not  want  to  heal  me  ?  —  See  you 
not  that  I  am  wounded  —  I  suffer  —  come,  give  me 
ease  — 

Satni,  I  would  give  all,  that  it  were  in  my  power 
to  do  so. 

Pakh.  You  know  prayers  that  our  priests  know 
not  — 

Satni.     I  know  no  prayers. 

Pakh.  [in  anguish]     You  are  not  going  to  let  me  die? 

Satni.     You  will  not  die  —  have  confidence. 

Pakh.  Confidence?  In  what?  [A  pause]  You  can- 
not heal  me? 

Satni.     I  cannot. 

Pakh,  All  your  knowledge,  then,  is  but  knowledge 
of    how    to    destroy  —  My    son  !  —  I    pray    you  —  my 


Act  III  False  Gods  189 

blood  goes  out  with  my  life  —  I  do  not  want  to  die ! 
I  pray  you  —  give  me  your  hand.  I  seem  to  be  sinking 
into  night  —  hold  me  back  —  you  will  not  let  me  die  — 
your  father !  I  am  your  father.  I  gave  you  life  —  hold 
me  back  —  all  grows  dim  around  me  —  But  at  least  do 
something  —  speak  —  say  the  incantations  —  [He  raises 
himself]  No !  No !  I  refuse  to  die !  I  am  not  old. 
[Strongly]  I  will  not!  I  will  not!  Do  not  let  go  my 
hand  !  I  would  live,  live  —  All  my  life,  I  have  worked,  I 
have  sorrowed,  I  have  suffered  —  Satni  —  will  you  let  me 
go  before  I  share  the  peace  and  happiness  you  promised — 

Satni.     Oh!    My  father! 

Pakh.  You  weep  —  I  am  lost,  then  —  Yes  —  I  have 
seen  it  in  your  eyes.  And  the  silence  deepens  around 
me.  To  die  —  to  die — [A  long  pause]  And  after? 
[Pause]  And  so  this  is  a  poor  man's  life !  Work  from 
childhood,  blows.  Then  work,  always,  without  profit. 
Only  for  bread.  And  still  work.  For  others.  Not  one 
pleasure.  We  die.  And  't  is  finished !  You  came  back 
to  teach  me  that  —  Work  —  blows  — -  misery  —  the  end. 
[A  silence]  What  did  you  come  here  to  do?  Is  that 
your  work?  [Strongly]  Satni,  Satni!  Give  me  back 
my  faith !  I  want  it !  Ah  !  Why  were  you  bom  a  de- 
stroyer ?  Is  that  your  truth  ?  You  are  evil  —  you  were 
able  to  prove  that  all  was  false.  Prove  to  me  now  that 
you  lied !  I  demand  it !  Give  me  back  my  faith  give 
jae  back  the  simple  mind  that  will  comfort  me. 

Satni.     Do  not  despair  — 

Pakh.  I  despair  because  the  happy  fields  do  not 
exist  — 

Satni.     Yes,  father,  yes,  they  exist  — 

Pakh.     You  lied,  then ! 

Satni.     I  lied. 

Pakh.     They  exist  —  and  if  I  die  — 

Satni.  If  you  die,  you  will  go  to  Osiris,  you  will 
become  Osiris. 


190  False  Gods  Act  III 

Pakh.  It  is  not  true.  'T  is  now  you  lie  —  There 
is  no  Osiris !  There  is  no  Osiris !  Nothing !  there  is 
nothing  —  but  life.  I  curse  you,  you  who  taught  me 
that  IHe  almost  falls  from  his  litter,  Satni  reverently 
lifts  him  up]  Ah!  accursed!  Accursed!  I  die  in  hate, 
in  rage,  in  fear.  Bad  son !  Bad  man !  I  curse  you, 
come  near.  [Seizing  him  by  the  throat]  Oh!  If  I 
were  strong  enough !  —  I  would  my  nails  might  pierce 
your  throat  —  Ah  !  Ah !  accursed !  [He  lets  him  go] 
All  my  life  lost !  All  my  suffering  useless  !  —  Forever 
—  Never  !  Never !  shall  I  know  —  Pity  !  [He  holds 
out  his  arms  to  Satni  and  falls  dead]. 

Satni  [horror-stricken]  He  is  dead !  —  [He  lifts 
him  reverently  and  lays  him  on  the  litter]  Father !  For 
me,  too,  at  this  moment  there  would  have  been  comfort 
in  a  lie  — 

He  weeps,  kneeling  by  the  body  with  his  arms 
stretched  over  it.  Kirjipa  appears  at  the  door  of 
the  house.  She  comes  near,  then  standing  upright 
cries  out  to  the  four  points  of  the  horizon,  tearing  her 
hair. 

Kirjipa.  The  master  is  dead!  The  master  is  dead! 
The  master  is  dead !     The  master  is  dead ! 

The  five  mourners  appear  outside,  Delethi,  Nazit, 
Hanou,  Zaya,  and  Nagaou. 

Kirjipa  [with  cries  that  are  calls]  The  master  is 
dead !     The  master  is  dead  ! 

Mourners  [entering]  The  master  is  dead!  The 
master  is  dead! 

Music  till  the  end  of  the  scene. 

Kirjipa.     O  my  father! 

Mourners  [louder  and  in  a  chant]  O  my  master!  O 
my  father ! 

Kirjipa.     O  my  beloved! 

Mourners.  The  she-wolf,  death;  the  she-wolf, 
death;    the  she-wolf,  death,  has  taken  him! 


Act  III  False  Gods  191 

They  rush  at  the  body,  kissing  it  with  piercing  cries. 
They  heat  their  breasts,  uttering  long  cries,  after  silent 
pauses.  Kirjipa  and  another  woman  dance  a  hieratic 
dance,  their  feet  gliding  slowly  over  the  ground.  They 
bend  to  gather  handfuls  of  earth,  which  they  scatter  on 
their  heads  as  they  dance.     The  cries  are  redoubled. 

Kirjipa  \_after  bowing  before  the  corpse^  Go  in 
peace  towards  Abydos  !    Go  in  peace  towards  Osiris ! 

All.  Towards  Abydos !  Towards  Osiris !  To  the 
West,  thou  who  wast  the  best  of  men ! 

Kirjipa.  If  it  please  the  gods,  when  the  day  of 
eternity  comes,  we  shall  see  thee,  for  behold  thou  goest 
towards  the  earth  that  mixeth  men. 

All.     Towards  Abydos  !     Towards  Osiris  ! 

They  make  believe  to  bear  away  the  corpse;  ritual 
movements. 

Kirjipa.  O  my  husband!  O  my  brother!  O  my 
beloved!  Stay,  live  in  thy  place.  Pass  not  away  from 
the  earthly  spot  where  thou  art !  Leave  him !  Leave 
him !  Wherefore  are  ye  come  to  take  him  who  aban- 
dons me. 

Mourners  \_in  a  fury  of  despair"]  Groans  !  Groans  ! 
Tears  !  Sobs  !  Sobs  !  Make,  make  lamentation  with- 
out end,  with  all  the  strength  Ihat  is  given  you. 

The  music  stops. 

Kirjipa  [to  the  corpse]  Despair  not.  Thy  son  is 
there ! 

They  point  to  Satni. 

All.     Despair  not.     Thy  son  is  there ! 

Delethi.  When  I  have  spoken,  and  after  me  Hanou, 
and  after  her  Nazit,  thy  son  will  speak  the  magic  words, 
whose  power  shall  make  thee  go  even  unto  Osiris,  before 
the  two  and  forty  judges.  They  shall  place  thy  heart 
in  the  balance,  and  thou  shalt  say:  "  I  have  done  wrong 
to  no  man,  I  have  done  nothing  that  is  abominable  in  the 
sight  of  the  gods." 


192  False  Gods  Act  III 

Satni  [/o  himself]  No,  I  will  not  speak  the  magic 
words. 

The  music  begins  again. 

All.     Despair  not !     Thy  son  is  there  ! 

Hanou.  Despair  not,  thy  son  is  there.  When  I 
have  spoken  and  after  me  Nazit,  thy  son  will  say  the 
magic  prayers  whose  power  shall  bring  thee  even  luito 
Osiris,  and  thou  shalt  say:  "  I  have  starved  none,  I  have 
made  none  weep,  I  have  not  killed,  I  have  not  robbed 
the  goods  of  the  temples." 

Satni  [to  himself]     No,  I  will  say  no  useless  words. 

All.     Despair  not !     Thy  son  is  there ! 

Nazit.  Despair  not !  Thy  son  is  there !  When  I 
have  spoken  he  will  say  the  sacred  words  whose  power 
shall  bring  thee  even  unto  Osiris  and  thou  shalt  say: 
"  I  did  not  filch  the  fillets  from  the  mummies,  I  did  not 
use  false  weights,  I  did  not  snare  the  sacred  birds.  I 
am  pure  —  " 

All.     I  am  pure !     I  am  pure !  — 

KiRJiPA  [continuing]  Give  to  me  what  is  my  due,  to 
me  who  am  pure.  Give  me  all  that  heaven  gives,  all 
that  the  earth  brings  forth,  all  that  the  Nile  bears  down 
from  its  mysterious  springs.  Despair  not !  Thy  son  is 
there !  Thy  son  will  say  the  sacred  words  ! 
A  pause.     All  look  at  Satni. 

Satni.     No,  I  will  not  say  words  that  are  lies ! 

General  consternation,  Kirjipa  comes  to  him  and  lays 
her  hands  on  his  shoulders. 

Kirjipa.     Speak  the  sacred  words  ! 

Satni.     No  ! 

Kirjipa.     Accursed ! 

She  falls  in  a  swoon.  The  women  press  round  her. 
Satni  bursts  into  sobs. 

Curtain 


ACT    IV 

Scene:  —  The  interior  of  a  temple. 

Columns,  huge  as  towers  and  covered  with  hiero- 
glyphics. On  the  left  the  Sanctuary ;  in  the  foreground 
in  a  little  nook,  invisible  to  the  faithful,  but  visible  to 
the  audience  is  installed  the  machinery  for  the  miracle, 
a  lever,  and  ropes.  Against  the  central  pillar  two 
thrones,  one  magnificent,  that  of  the  Pharaoh;  the  other 
simj)le,  that  of  the  High  Priest, 

The  Pharaoh,  the  High  Priest,  an  officer,  an  old  man, 
and  six  priests  discovered.  When  the  curtain  rises  all 
are  seated,  the  priests  on  little  chairs  between  the  two 
thrones. 

The  Officer  [prostrated  before  the  Pharaoh]  Pha- 
raoh !  may  Ammon-Ra  preserve  thy  life  in  health  and 
strength ! 

The  Pharaoh  [with  fury]     My  orders!    My  orders! 

The  Officer,  Lord  of  the  two  Egypts,  friend  of 
Ra,  favorite  of  Mentu,  may  Ammon  — 

The  Pharaoh.     Enough !   my  orders  ! 

The  Officer.     I  would  have  died  — 

The  Pharaoh.  The  wish  shall  be  granted,  be  as- 
sured, and  soon !  My  orders  !  Dog,  why  did  you  not 
carry  out  my  orders  ? 

The  Officer.     Satni  — 

The  Pharaoh.  Satni !  Yes,  Satni,  the  impostor ! 
Where  is  he? 

The  Officer.  Pharaoh  —  may  Ammon,  Soukou  Ra, 
Horus  — 

193 


194  False  Gods  Act  IV 

The  Pharaoh.  I  will  have  you  whipped  till  your 
blood  run  —  Satni !  Where  is  Satni !  I  sent  you  to 
seize  him  !     Where  is  he  ? 

The  Officer.     No  one  knows. 

The  Pharaoh.  Scoundrel!  You  are  his  accom- 
plice ! 

The  Officer.     O  Ammon ! 

The  Pharaoh.  Did  you  go  to  the  house  of  his 
father,  to  Rheou.^ 

The  Officer.     We  searched  them  in  vain. 

The  Pharaoh.     He  has  taken  flight,  then.'' 

The  Officer.     I  know  not. 

The  Pharaoh.  You  are  a  traitor !  You  shall  die ! 
Take  him  out!  And  you  others,  hear  the  commands 
of  the  High  Priest  and  begone. 

High  Priest.  Let  each  fulfil  the  mission  he  is 
charged  with.  Let  the  young  priests  mix  with  the  crowd, 
the  moment  it  enters  the  Temple.  Let  them  excite 
the  people's  fervor,  that  as  many  prodigies  as  possible 
may  be  won  from  the  goddess.  Now  when  you  are 
gone  the  stones  that  screen  the  sanctuary  will  roll  away 
before  the  Pharaoh  and  the  High  Priest;  and,  first  by 
right,  they  shall  behold  the  goddess  face  to  face. 
Humbly  prostrated  we  shall  speak  to  her  the  mysterious 
words  that  other  men  have  never  heard.  Bow  down 
before  the  Pharaoh,  may  he  live  in  health  and  strength 
[All  kneel  and  remain  with  their  faces  on  the  ground 
during  what  follows,  save  an  old  man  whom  the  High 
Priest  calls  to  his  side  by  a  sign;  and  to  whom  he  says 
in  low  tones]  Let  the  man  Satni  be  taken  from  the 
crypt  where  he  is  imprisoned  [The  old  man  bows] 
When  I  give  the  signal  let  them  bring  him  here.  While 
the  Pharaoh  goes  in  procession  through  the  town  let 
them  do  what  I  have  told  you  [The  old  man  bows]  [To 
the  others]  Rise!  [To  the  Pharaoh]  Son  of  Am- 
mon-Ra,  bow  down  before  him  who  represents  the  god. 


Act  ly  False  Gods  195 

[The  Pharaoh  rises  and  after  a  slight  hesitation  bows 
down  before  the  High  Priest]  Withdraw,  we  would 
pray.  [Motionless  the  High  Priest  and  the  Pharaoh 
wait  till  the  last  of  the  assistants  are  gone]. 

The  Pharaoh  [giving  up  his  hieratic  pose,  angrily] 
I  would  all  the  flies  of  Egypt  might  eat  thy  tongue. 

High  Priest  [without  feeling]  The  flies  of  Egypt 
are  too  many  and  my  tongue  is  too  small,  for  your  wish 
to  be  realized,  Pharaoh. 

The  Pharaoh.     This  is  the  result  of  my  weakness ! 

High  Priest  [with  flattering  unction]  The  Pharaoh, 
Son  of  Ammon-Ra  —  Lord  of  the  two  Egypts  —  Friend 
of  Ra  — 

The  Pharaoh.  Enough !  Enough !  We  are  alone. 
There  are  none  whom  your  words  may  deceive.  And 
your  mock-reverence  fools  not  me.  You  would  not  let 
me  put  Satni  to  death,  your  subtleties  confused  my 
mind,  I  gave  in  to  you,  and  now  Satni  escapes  us. 

High  Priest.  You  should  not  let  anger  master  you 
for  that. 

The  Pharaoh.  Satni  has  foretold  to  thousands  of 
ears  that  there  will  be  no  miracle. 

High  Priest.     The  miracle  will  be. 

The  Pharaoh.     Who  knows  that? 

High  Priest.      I. 

The  Pharaoh.  Satni  has  declared  he  will  enter  the 
temple  — 

High   Priest.     'T  is  possible. 

The  Pharaoh.  He  has  declared  he  knows  the  secret 
recess,  whence  one  of  your  priests  makes  the  head  of 
the  image  move. 

High    Priest.      Most  like  he  speaks  the  truth. 

The  Pharaoh.  He  declares  the  miracle  will  not 
take  place.  If  the  people  suffer  this  disappointment, 
tell  me  what  chance  can  there  be  for  the  war  of  conquest 
I  would  wage  in  Ethiopia? 


196  False  Gods  Act  IV 

High  Priest.  Why  wage  a  war  of  conquest  in 
Ethiopia? 

The  Pharaoh.  I  need  gold.  I  need  women.  I  need 
slaves.  There  will  be  a  share  of  the  spoil  for  your 
temple. 

High  Priest.     I  like  not  bloodshed. 

The  Pharaoh.  The  treasury  is  empty.  Our  whip- 
pings are  useless  now.  Our  blows  no  longer  bring  forth 
taxes.  If  the  people  lose  confidence  in  the  gods,  what 
will  happen  to-morrow?  Who  will  follow  me,  unless 
they  believe  the  gods  confirm  my  orders? 

High  Priest.     Satni  will  not  prevent  the  miracle. 

The  Pharaoh.     What  do  you  know  of  it? 

High  Priest.     I  know. 

The  Pharaoh.     Is  Satni  dead? 

High  Priest.     He  lives. 

The  Pharaoh  \_suddenly  guessing^  You  are  hiding 
him ! 

High  Priest.     Yes. 

The  Pharaoh.  You  knew  I  was  about  to  rid  me  of 
him,  and  you  took  him  to  prevent  me? 

High  Priest.     Yes. 

The  Pharaoh.     What  do  you  intend? 

High  Priest.  It  shall  be  done  with  him  as  I  wish, 
not  as  you  wish. 

The  Pharaoh.  His  crime  is  a  crime  against 
Egypt. 

High  Priest.  A  crime  against  me.  That  is  still 
more  grave.     Therefore  be  satisfied. 

The  Pharaoh.  Why  then  all  these  ceremonies  be- 
fore you  kill  him? 

High  Priest.     That  all  may  know  his  faults. 

The  Pharaoh.  Satni  was  one  of  yours,  and  you 
defend  him. 

High  Priest.  We  must  not  make  martyrs  —  if  we 
can  avoid  it.      In  killing  Satni  you  would  have  killed 


Act  IV  False  Gods  197 

only  a  man.  If  what  I  dream  succeed,  I  shall  kill  his 
work.     That  is  a  better  thing. 

The  Pharaoh.     What  will  you  make  of  him? 

High  Priest.     A  priest. 

The  Pharaoh.     A  priest.'' 

High  Priest.  He  was  initiated  before  he  went  away. 
He  was  then  a  young  man,  pious  and  wise.  On  his 
travels  he  lost  some  piety,  and  gained  some  wisdom. 

The  Pharaoh.  Have  I  not  always  said:  "it  is  not 
good  to  travel." 

High  Priest.  I  think  like  you.  Travellers  learn  too 
much.  Yet  am  I  hopeful.  I  shall  bring  him  back  to 
our  gods. 

The  Pharaoh,     You  will  fail. 

High  Priest.  He  who  for  long  has  breathed  the  air 
of  temples  can  never  wholly  clear  his  breast  of  it.  If 
he  give  way,  he  shall  never  leave  the  house  of  the  Gods 
again,  if  he  be  still  rebellious,  he  shall  leave  to  go  to 
his  death. 

The  Pharaoh.  I  order  you  to  give  Satni  up  to 
me. 

High  Priest.  I  would  I  might  bow  to  your  will. 
But  he  is  a  priest:  his  life  is  sacred.  And  I  may  not 
trangress  the  orders  given  me  by  the  Gods. 

The  Pharaoh.  Prate  not  of  these  follies  to  me  —  do 
you  take  me  for  one  of  your  priests  ?  Obey !  I  command 
you! 

High  Priest.  Do  you  take  me  for  one  of  your 
soldiers } 

The  Pharaoh.     I  command  it. 

High  Priest.     The  gods  forbid. 

The  Pharaoh.     I  laugh  at  your  gods. 

High  Priest.     Beware  lest  your  people  hear. 

The  Pharaoh.  I  would  be  master,  in  truth.  And 
more,  I  refuse  to  submit  to  the  humiliation  that  again 
you  put  on  me  a  while  ago. 


198  False  Gods'  Act  IV 

High    Priest.     How    should    that    humiliate    you? 
Before  yoU;,  the  highest  bow  down. 

The  Pharaoh.     Yes.    And  straightway,  then,  I  must 
bow  me  down  before  you. 

High  Priest.     You  salute  not  me,  but  the  god  whom 
I  represent. 

The  Pharaoh.     I  pay  homage  to  the  god,  it  is  the 
priest  who  receives  it. 

High  Priest  [faintly  smiling]     Rest  assured !    I  pass 
it  on  to  him. 

The   Pharaoh.     And  you  mock  me,  besides !     Oh ! 
if  I  but  dared  to  kill  you,  hypocrite ! 

High  Priest.     Vain  man  ! 

The   Pharaoh.     You  tremble  at  sight  of  a  sword, 
coward ! 

High  Priest.     Being  a  butcher,  you  know  only  how 
to  kill. 

The  Pharaoh.     Liar! 

High  Priest.     Who  made  you  Pharaoh? 

The    Pharaoh.     Beware   lest   one   day    I   have   you 
thrown  to  my  lions ! 

High  Priest.  Beware  lest  one  day  I  strike  the 
crown  of  the  two  Egypts  from  your  head,  telling  the 
people  the  god  has  set  his  face  against  you!  [A  pause] 
Come,  we  must  work  together.  We  complete  each  other. 
To  govern  men,  we  have  both  the  reality  of  the  evils 
you  inflict  on  them,  and  the  hope  of  the  good  I  promise 
them.  Believe  me,  we  must  work  together.  The  day 
that  one  of  us  disappears,  the  fate  of  the  other  will  be 
in  jeopardy  —  I  perceive  they  make  sign  to  me.  They 
think  our  prayers  are  long  and  fervent.  The  hour  is 
come  for  you  to  receive  the  acclamation  of  your  people, 
and  follow  them  to  the  shrine  of  Isis  —  when  Satni  will 
not  prevent  the  miracle,  I  pledge  my  word  to  that. 

The   cortege   comes   on  and  goes   out  xvith  Pharaoh. 
Satni  is  led  before  the  High  Priest. 


Act  IV  False  Gods  199 

High  Priest,     You  know  me  again ! 

Satni  [troubled]     Yes,  you  are  the  High  Priest. 

High  Priest  [with  sweet  gentleness]  I,  too,  I  know 
you  again.  Your  father  is  a  potter.  You  were  brought 
up  and  taught  by  us.  In  the  crowd  of  neophytes  I 
singled  you  out  by  your  gentleness,  your  great  intelli- 
gence ;  and  I  saw  you  destined  for  the  highest  dignities. 
I  esteemed  you,  I  was  fond  of  you.  We  took  you  from 
wretchedness.  What  you  know,  for  the  most  part,  you 
owe  to  us.  This  thing  that  you  have  done  should  anger 
me  —  I  am  only  sad,  my  son.  [A  pause]  You  are 
troubled. 

Satni.  Yes,  I  looked  for  threats,  for  torture.  The 
kindness  of  your  voice  unmans  me. 

High  Priest.  Be  not  distressed.  Forget  who  I  am. 
None  hear  us.  Let  us  talk  together  as  father  and 
son.  Or  better,  since  your  learning  makes  you  worthy, 
as  two  men.  You  have  proclaimed  broadcast  that  the 
miracle  will  not  come  to  pass. 

Satni.  The  goddess  is  stone.  Stone  does  not  move 
itself.  The  image  will  not  bow  its  head  unless  man 
intervene. 

High  Priest.     That  is  evident. 

Satni.     You  admit  it.'' 

High  Priest.  To  you,  yes.  We  give  to  each  one  the 
faith  he  deserves.  Had  you  remained  with  us,  at  each 
step  in  the  priesthood  you  would  have  beheld  the  gods 
rise  with  you,  become  more  immaterial,  more  noble,  as 
you  became  more  learned.  We  give  to  the  people  the 
gods  they  can  understand.  Our  god  is  different.  He 
is  the  one  who  exists  in  essence.  The  one  who  lives  in 
substance,  the  sole  procreator  who  was  not  engendered, 
the  father  of  the  fathers,  the  mother  of  mothers.  The 
one  and  only.  And  we  crave  his  pardon  for  belitting  him 
by  miracles.  But  they  are  part  of  that  faith  which 
alone  contents  the  simple-minded.     You  are  above  them 


200  False  Gods  Act  IV 

—  I  admit  freely  that  the  miracle  could  be  prevented. 
You  declared  it  would  not  take  place  —  you  have  found 
the  means  to  make  it  impossible  ? 

Satni  [suspecting  the  trap]  I  said  that,  left  to  her- 
self, the  goddess  would  not  move. 

High  Priest.  To  say  only  that,  would  not  have 
served  you.  You  intended  to  prevent  the  miracle. 
Come,  admit  it  —  it  is  so. 

Satni.     Perhaps. 

High  Priest,  By  seizing  you,  I  prevent  your  com- 
mitting the  sacrilege.  Your  purpose  will  not  be  real- 
ized. In  an  hour  the  festival  of  the  Prodigy  will  take 
place,  and  you  are  my  prisoner.  It  follows  then,  the 
miracle  will  be  performed  —  you  believe  that,  do  you 
not? 

Satni  [after  a  pause]     Yes,  I  believe  it. 

High  Priest.  And  so  your  cause  is  lost.  [A  pause] 
Listen  to  me;  the  priests  who  have  taken  their  final 
vows  are  as  wise  and  as  little  credulous  as  you.  I  offer 
you  a  place  among  them.  Return  to  us.  A  little  wis- 
dom banishes  the  gods  —  great  wisdom  brings  them 
back. 

Satni.     I  refuse. 

High  Priest.  My  son,  my  son,  you  will  not  cause 
me  this  sorrow.  Think  what  you  will  drive  me  to,  if 
you  refuse  —  Satni,  do  not  force  me  to  send  you  before 
the  tribunal,  whose  sentence  must  be  death.  Death, 
for  you,  so  young,  whose  future  is  so  bright ! 

Satni.     I  do  not  fear  death. 

High  Priest.  Besides  —  I  mind  me  —  you  were 
betrothed  to  that  little  Yaouma  whom  the  god  has 
chosen  as  victim.  You  know  she  may  be  saved  from 
the  sacrifice,  if  she  become  the  wife  of  a  priest.  They 
guarded  her  but  ill  at  Rheou's  house,  she  is  here.  I 
have  seen  her;  she  is  kind  and  gentle,  and  you  would 
lead  a  happy  life  with  her. 


Act  IV  False  Gods  201 

Satni.     Yaouma !     Yaouraa !     [He  hides  his  face] 

High  Priest  [laying  a  hand  on  his  shoulder}  So 
that  on  one  side  is  Yaouma's  death  and  yours;  on  the 
other,  happiness  with  her  —  and  power.  Say  nothing. 
I  speak  as  a  father  might,  you  can  see.  I  say  besides, 
that  you  will  better  serve  the  crowd  in  leaving  them 
their  gods.  I  wish  to  convince  you  of  it,  and  you  will 
stay  with  us  —  weep  no  more.  You  will  stay,  will  you 
not?  Wait!  Hear  me,  before  you  answer.  You  seek 
happiness  for  the  lower  orders  ?  There  is  no  happiness 
for  them  without  religion.  Already  you  have  seen 
what  they  become,  when  it  is  taken  from  them.  The 
riots  of  yesterday  cost  your  father  his  life.  He  suffered 
much,  they  tell  me.  Is  it  true.''  I  do  not  know  the 
details.  You  saw  him  die,  did  you  not  ?  Tell  me  how  it 
happened. 

Satni.  Ah !  I  was  right.  It  was  in  truth  torture 
that  awaited  me  here.  You  have  guessed  you  would 
gain  nothing  racking  my  body  —  you  keep  your  tor- 
ments for  my  heart. 

High  Priest.  Have  I  said  other  than  what  is  true? 
The  conversions  that  your  preaching  made  were  fol- 
lowed by  disorders  —  was  it  not  then  that  your  father 
was  wounded?  I  knew  him.  He  was  a  man,  simple  and 
good.  You  are  the  cause  of  his  death,  as  you  will  be 
the  cause  of  Yaouma's. 

Satni.  Peace !  You  would  have  my  sorrows  crush 
my  will ! 

High  Priest.  I  shall  speak  of  them  no  more.  But 
think  of  the  people  of  Egypt,  what  evils  you  would 
bring  on  them !  If  you  take  away  their  religion,  what 
will  keep  them  virtuous  ? 

Satni.  What  you  call  their  virtue,  is  only  their 
submission. 

High  Priest.  You  let  loose  their  vilest  instincts,  if 
you  remove  the  fear  of  the  gods. 


202  False  Gods  Act  IV 

Satni.  The  fear  of  the  gods  has  prevented  fewer 
crimes  than  were  needed  to  create  it. 

High  Priest.     Be  it  so.     But  it  exists. 

Satni.  It  is  your  interest  to  spread  the  belief,  that 
the  fear  of  the  gods  is  a  restraint.  And  you  know  that 
it  is  not.  You  do  not  leave  the  punishment  of  crime  to 
the  gods.  You  have  the  lash,  hard  labor  in  the  mines; 
you  have  scaffolds,  you  have  executioners.  No  one  be- 
lieves sincerely  in  the  happy  life  beyond  the  grave.  If 
we  believed,  we  should  kill  ourselves,  the  sooner  to  reach 
the  Island  of  the  Souls,  the  fields  of  Yalou. 

High  Priest.  By  what  then  are  the  appetites 
restrained  ? 

Satni.  By  the  laws,  by  the  need  of  the  esteem  of 
others  — 

High  Priest.  We  have  just  seen  that,  in  sooth.  So 
then  it  was  virtue  that  the  people  showed  yesterday, 
after  you  made  them  break  their  gods  ?  They  seemed 
to  care  little  for  the  esteem  of  others,  for  they  stole,  they 
pillaged,  they  killed.  Do  you  approve  of  that?  Have 
they  gained  your  esteem,  those  who  have  done  what 
they  have  done.'* 

Satni.  Oh,  I  know  !  I  know  !  That  is  your  strong- 
est argument.  Creatures  degraded  by  centuries  of 
slavery,  drunk  with  the  first  hours  of  freedom,  commit 
crimes.  You  argue  from  this,  that  they  were  meant  for 
slaves.  Yes,  it  is  true  that  if  you  take  a  child  from  the 
leading  strings  that  upheld  it,  the  child  falls  down.  But 
you  who  watch  over  it,  you  rejoice  at  the  fall,  for  then 
you  can  assert  that  the  child  must  go  back  to  its  leading 
strings  —  and  be  kept  in  them  till  death. 

High  Priest.  Then  you  declare  that  all  supports 
must  be  suppressed.''  [A  pause]  Religion  is  a  prop. 
It  soothes  —  consoles.  He  does  evil  who  disturbs 
it. 

Satni.     Many  religions  died  before  ours.     The  pass- 


Act  IV  False  Gods  203 

ing  of  each  caused  the  sorrows  you  foresee.  Should  we 
then  have  kept  the  first,  to  prevent  some  suffering? 

High  Priest.  Ours  is  yet  young,  though  so  old ;  look 
in  the  halls  of  our  temples,  behold  the  countless  thank- 
offerings  brought  there  for  prayers  that  were  granted. 

Satni.  Your  temples  could  not  hold  the  offerings, 
unthinkable  in  number,  that  those  whose  prayers  were 
not  granted  might  have  made,  and  who  none  the  less 
prayed  as  well  as  the  others. 

High  Priest.  Even  unanswered  their  prayers  were 
recompensed.  They  had  hope,  and  it  is  likewise  a  boon 
to  the  poor  to  promise  them  welfare  in  the  world  to  come. 

Satni.  You  promise  them  welfare  in  the  world  to 
come,  to  make  them  forget  that  all  the  welfare  in  this 
world  is  yours. 

High  Priest.  Can  you  give  happiness  to  all  who  are 
on  earth.''  We  are  more  generous  than  you;  at  least 
we  give  them  consolation. 

Satni.     You  make  them  pay  dear  for  it. 

High  Priest.  In  truth  the  granaries  of  our  temples 
are  full  to  overflowing.  Left  to  themselves,  the  people 
would  not  think  of  the  lean  years,  in  the  years  of  abun- 
dance. We  think  for  them,  and  they  bring  us,  gladly, 
what  they  would  refuse  did  they  not  believe  they  gave 
to  the  gods.  We  proclaim  the  Nile  sacred;  it  is  for- 
bidden to  sully  its  waters.  Is  that  to  honor  it  as  a  god.'' 
Not  so,  it  is  to  avoid  the  plague.  And  all  the  animals 
we  deified  are  those  man  has  need  of.  You  did  not  learn 
all  things  on  your  travels  — 

Satni.  You  would  have  the  peasant  remain  a  child, 
because  you  fear  the  reckoning  he  would  demand  of  you, 
if  you  let  him  grow  up.  You  know  you  could  not  stay 
him  then  by  showing  him  the  god-jackal,  the  god-ram, 
the  god-bull,  and  the  rest  that  do  not  exist. 

High  Priest.     Are  you  certain  they  do  not  exist? 

Satni.     Yes. 


204  False  Gods  Act  IV 

High  Priest.     Know  you  where  you  are? 

Satni.     In  the  temple. 

High  Priest.  In  the  temple;  where  you  were 
brought  up.  There  was  a  time  when  you  dared  not 
have  crossed  the  first  sacred  enclosure.  You  are  in  the 
third.  Look  round !  There  is  the  holy  of  holies.  At 
my  will  the  stones  that  mask  the  entrance  will  roll  back, 
and  the  goddess  will  be  unveiled.  Except  the  High 
Priest  and  the  Pharaoh,  no  mortal,  if  he  be  not  priest 
himself,  may  look  on  her  and  live  —  save  at  the  hour  of 
the  annual  Festival  of  Prodigies,  which  is  upon  us  now. 
Do  you  believe  that  you  can  endure  to  be  alone  in  her 
presence? 

Satni.     I  do  believe  it. 

High  Priest.  We  shall  see.  If  you  be  afraid,  call 
and  prostrate  yourself.  Afterwards  you  shall  go  and 
tell  what  you  have  seen,  to  those  whom  you  deceived. 

The  High  Priest  makes  a  sign.  Total  darkness.  A 
peal  of  thunder. 

Satni.  Ah!  [Terrified,  he  leaps  forward.  A  faint 
light  returns  slowly,  the  temple  is  empty]  I  am  alone! 
[He  is  terrified,  standing  erect  against  a  pillar  facing 
the  audience}  Alone  in  the  temple,  within  sight  of  the 
goddess  almost.  I  know  't  is  but  an  image  —  yet  am 
I  steeped  in  terror,  even  to  the  marrow  of  my  bones. 
[He  utters  an  agonized  cry]  Ah!  —  I  thought  I  beheld 
in  the  darkness  —  No  —  I  know  that  there  is  nothing  — 
Oh !  coward  nature  !  Because  I  was  cradled  amid  tales 
of  religion,  because  I  grew  up  in  the  fear  of  the  gods, 
because  my  father  and  my  father's  father,  and  all  those 
from  whom  I  come,  were  crushed  by  this  terror  even 
from  the  blackest  night  of  time,  I  tremble,  and  my  rea- 
son totters.  All  this  is  false,  I  know  —  the  god  obeys 
the  priest.  Yet,  from  these  towering  columns,  horror 
and  mystery  descend  upon  me  —  [A  thunder  clap  brings 
him  to  his  knees.     The  stones  that  mask  the  entrance  to 


Act  IV  False  Gods  205 

the  sanctuary  roll  slowly  back.  He  tries  to  look^  The 
holy  of  holies  opens  —  I  am  afraid  —  I  am  afraid  — 
[He  mutters  words,  wipes  the  sweat  from  his  brow  with 
his  hand.  He  trembles  and  falls  sobbing  to  the  ground. 
A  long  pause'\  'T  is  the  beast  in  me  that  is  afraid  — 
Ah!  coward  flesh!  [Biting  his  hands']  I  shall  conquer 
thee  —  I  would  chastise  my  weakness.  I  am  shamed  — • 
I  am  shamed  —  In  spite  of  all  I  will  look  her  in  the 
face.  I  have  the  will !  but  I  must  fight  against  so  many 
memories,  against  all  the  dead  whose  spirits  stir  in  mine. 
I  shall  conquer  the  dead.  My  life,  and  my  will  — 
courage ! 

With  great  effort  and  after  many  struggles  he  gains 
the  mastery  of  himself,  goes  to  the  shrine  and  looks  upon 
the  goddess.  The  High  Priest  reappears  touching  him 
on  the  shoulder. 

High  Priest,  Terror  does  not  move  you.  Let  us 
see  if  you  be  proof  against  pity.  Come  —  [He  leads 
him  to  the  side  of  the  shrine,  presses  a  spring  and  a  door 
opens,  revealing  in  the  interior  of  the  shrine  the  ma- 
chinery of  the  miracle,  a  lever  and  cordage]  Look! 
'T  is  by  pressing  this  lever  that  one  of  ours,  in  a  little 
while,  will  bring  about  the  miracle.  I  leave  you  in  his 
place.  At  my  signal  the  doors  of  the  sacred  enclosure 
will  open,  and  the  people  draw  near  the  sanctuary. 
Listen  to  them.  And  if  you  are  moved  to  pity  by  their 
prayers,  you  —  you  shall  give  them  the  consoling  lie 
for  which  they  pray. 

Satni.     There  will  be  no  miracle. 

High  Priest.  Watch  and  hear.  [He  leaves  Satni, 
who  remains  visible  to  the  audience.  The  stones  roll 
back  over  the  shrine.  The  High  Priest  makes  a  sign, 
other  priests  appear]     All  is  ready? 

A  Priest.     All. 

High  Priest  [to  another]     Listen. 

He  whispers  to  him.     The  Priest  bows  and  goes  out. 


206  False  Gods  Act  IV 

While  the  crowd  comes  in  later,  this  priest  is  seen  to 
enter  the  hiding-place  right,  where  he  stands  watching 
Satni,  dagger  in  hand. 

High  Priest.     Now,  let  them  come  in. 

He  makes  a  gesture  and  all  disappear.  A  pitiable 
crowd  bursts  into  the  temple,  bustling,  running,  filling 
all  the  empty  spaces.  Four  men  carry  a  litter  on  which 
is  a  beautiful  young  woman  clothed  in  precious  stuffs. 
Mieris,  Yaouma,  and  all  the  characters  of  the  play 
come  on. 

Young  Woman.  Nearer,  lay  me  nearer  the  goddess ! 
She  will  drive  forth  the  evil  spirit  that  will  not  let  me 
move  my  legs. 

Cripples,  people  on  crutches,  creatures  with  hands  or 
feet  wrapped  in  bandages  crowd  past  her. 

A  Blind  Girl  [to  him  who  leads  her]  When  the  stone 
rolls  back  and  the  goddess  appears,  watch  well  her 
face,  to  tell  me  if  she  will  not  give  me  back  my 
sight. 

A  paralytic  drags  himself  in  on  his  hands. 

The  Paralytic.  I  would  be  quite  near,  quite  near ! 
In  a  little  while  I  shall  walk. 

Two  sons  lead  in  their  mother,  who  is  mad,  striving 
to  calm  her.  A  mother,  with  her  child  in  her  arms,  begs 
the  crowd  to  let  her  get  near.  A  man,  whose  head  is 
bandaged,  and  whose  eyes  and  mouth  are  mere  holes, 
hustles  his  neighbors.  Many  blind,  and  people  borne 
on  chairs. 

A  Woman.  She  will  speak,  she  will  say  "  yes."  She 
will  reveal  herself  again  as  protectress  of  Egypt. 

Another.  They  say  not.  They  say  that  great 
calamities  are  in  store  for  us. 

Another.     If  she  answer  not.^ 

Another.     Silence ! 

Music.  The  Pharaoh's  procession  enters.  He  is  con- 
ducted down  left  where  he  remains  invisible  to  the  spec- 


Act  IV  False  Gods  207 

tutors.    The  High  Priest  mounts  his  throne.    The  people 
prostrate  themselves. 

High  Priest.     Ammon  is  great ! 

A  pause. 

The  People.     Ammon  is  great! 

High  Priest.     The  sanctuary  is  about  to  open. 

Voices.  The  stones  will  roll  back !  I  am  afraid ! 
The  goddess  will  appear !  We  shall  behold  her !  Hush  ! 
Hush! 

The  High  Priest  lifts  his  hands  to  heaven. 

A  Priest  [in  the  recess,  to  some  men  ready  to  work 
the  ropes,  in  a  low  voice^     Now ! 

The  men  pull  the  ropes,  the  stones  roll  back.  The 
crowd  bow  themselves  flat  on  the  ground.  Those  who 
cannot,  hide  their  faces  on  their  arms. 

High  Priest.  Rise!  Behold  and  pray!  [A 
smothered  cry  of  terror  rises,  women  mad  with  terror 
are  seized  with  nervous  fits.  They  are  carried  out]  O 
goddess  !  Thy  people  adore  thee,  and  humble  themselves 
before  thee ! 

All.     Isis,  we  adore  thee  ! 

High  Priest.  This  year,  once  more,  show  to  us  by 
that  miraculous  sign  of  thy  divine  head,  that  still  thou 
art  our  protectress.  [The  people  repeat  the  incanta- 
tion in  a  murmur]  O  goddess,  if  thou  hast  pity  on  those 
who  suffer,  thou  wilt  bend  thy  head.  Pity  !  Pity !  we 
suffer !     The  evil  spirits  torment  us. 

The  People.  We  suffer!  Drive  forth  the  evil 
spirits ! 

High  Priest.  Neith !  Mother  of  the  Universe! 
The  evil  spirits  torment  us!  Neith!  Virgin  genetrix ! 
Isis,  sacred  earth  of  Egypt,  bend  thy  head!  Sati, 
queen  of  the  heavens  !     Bend  thy  head ! 

The  Mother.  The  soul  of  a  dead  man  has  entered 
the  body  of  my  child,  O  Isis !  And  he  is  dying.  I  hold 
him  towards  thee,  Isis.     Behold  how  he  is  fair,  behold 


208  False  Gods  Act  IV 

how  he  suffers.  Look,  he  is  so  little.  Let  me  keep  him ! 
Isis  !     Isis  !    Let  me  keep  him  ! 

All.     Pity !    Pity ! 

High  Priest.  Show  us  that  thou  dost  consent  to 
hear  us  !     Isis,  bend  thy  head  ! 

Blind  Girl.  Open  my  eyes !  Ever  since  I  was 
born  a  demon  held  them  closed.  Let  me  see  the  skies 
of  whose  splendor  they  tell  me.  I  am  unhappy,  Isis ! 
He  whom  I  love,  he  who  loves  me,  I  have  not  looked 
upon  his  countenance  !     I  am  unhappy,  Isis  ! 

All.     Pity!    Pity! 

High  Priest.  Anouke!  Soul  of  the  Universe! 
Pity!  We  are  before  thee  like  little  children  who  are 
lost. 

The  People.  Yes !  Yes !  like  little  children  who 
are  lost ! 

The  Son.  For  my  father  who  is  blind,  Isis,  I  im- 
plore thee ! 

All.     Isis!     Father!     Pity! 

High  Priest.  Thmei,  Queen  of  Justice !  Mirror  of 
truth  !     Bend  thy  head ! 

The  Young  Paralytic.  I  have  offered  up  ten  lambs 
to  thee.    Let  me  get  up  and  walk ! 

The  Man  [with  the  bandaged  head]  An  un- 
seen monster  devours  my  face  making  me  howl  with 
pain. 

Paralyzed  Man.  I  drag  through  the  mire,  like  a 
beast  unclean.     Let  me  walk  upright  like  a  god. 

The  Two  Sons  [of  the  mad  woman']  Behold  our 
mother,  Isis,  behold  our  mother,  who  knows  us  no  more, 
who  knows  not  herself  even,  and  who  laughs  !  — 

The  Mother.  Isis !  Thou  art  a  mother.  Isis,  in 
the  name  of  thine  own  child,  save  mine.  Let  me  not 
go  with  empty  arms,  bereft  of  my  tender  burden.  Thou 
art  a  mother,  Isis ! 

High  Priest.     All !    All !    Pray !    Supplicate !    Fling 


Act  IV  False  Gods  209 

you  with  your  faces  to  the  ground  —  yes  !  yes  !  again  ! 
Silence  !  She  is  about  to  answer.  [A  long  pausel  Your 
prayers  are  lukewarm.  Your  supplications  need  fervor! 
Pray  !    Weep  !    Cry  out !    Cry  out ! 

All.  Isis  !  Drive  out  the  evil  spirits  !  Answer  us  ! 
Answer  us ! 

High  Priest.     Louder !     Louder ! 

The  People.  Sorrows  !  Tears  !  Sobs !  Cries ! 
Have  pity ! 

High  Priest.     Once  more,  though  you  die ! 

The  People.  Thou  dost  abandon  Egypt!  What 
ills  will  overwhelm  us !  Help !  Help  us !  Have 
pity ! 

High  Priest.  Have  pity  !  Have  pity  !  [bursting  into 
sobs]  Oh !  unhappy  people,  Isis,  if  thou  dost  abandon 
them. 

Voices  [amid  the  sobs  of  the  others]  She  hears  us 
not !  She  answers  not.  Evil  is  upon  us !  Evil  over- 
whelms us ! 

High  Priest.     Desperate!     We  are  desperate! 

All.     We  are  desperate! 

A  Cry.     Her  head  is  bending !     No  !     Yes  ! 

Silence.  Then  a  great  cry  of  distress  and  disappoint- 
ment. 

High  Priest.     O  mother  !     O  goddess  ! 

The  Mother.  O  Isis !  mother  of  Horus  !  the  child 
god !  Wilt  thou  let  die  my  child  ?  Behold  him  !  Behold 
him! 

Young  Paralytic.  Thy  heart  is  hard,  O  god- 
dess ! 

Paralyzed  Man.  Thou  hast  but  to  will  it,  Isis,  and 
I  walk! 

The  Man  [with  the  bandaged  head]  Heal  my  sores ! 
I  sow  horror  around  me !     Heal  my  sores  ! 

High  Priest.     Answer  us !    Bend  thy  head ! 

All.     Pity ! 


210  False  Gods  Act  IV 

The  crowd,  delirious,  cries  and  sobs  in  a  paroxysm 
of  despair. 

Satni.     Oh!    the  poor  wretched  souls! 

He  presses  the  lever.  As  the  head  of  the  statue  hows, 
the  people  respond  with  one  wild  roar  of  acclamation. 

Curtain 


ACT    V 

Scene:  —  Same  as  Acts  I  and  II. 

The  statues  of  the  gods  are  set  up  again,  in  their* 
places,  facing  them  a  throne  has  been  erected  on  which 
the  High  Priest  is  seated.  Rheou,  Satni,  Mieris, 
Yaouma,  Sokiti,  Nourm,  Bitiou,  the  Steward  and  all 
the  women  and  servants  of  the  household,  and  the 
laborers.  When  the  curtain  rises  all  are  prostrate  with 
their  faces  to  the  ground. 

High  Priest  [after  a  pause]  Rise!  [All  rise  to 
their  knees.  A  pause]  The  divine  images  are  again  in 
their  places.  You  have  shown  that  you  repent.  You 
have  begged  for  pardon.  You  have  testified  your  horror 
of  the  terrible  crime  you  were  driven  to  commit.  You 
await  your  chastisement.  The  gods  now  permit  that 
we  proceed  to  the  sacrifice,  that  will  bring  about  the 
overflowing  of  the  Nile,  and  give  for  yet  another  year, 
life  to  the  land  of  Egypt.  She  who  has  chosen,  the 
elect,  the  savior,  is  she  here? 

Yaouma  [rising  to  her  feet,  radiant]     I  am  here ! 

High  Priest.  Let  her  go  to  clothe  her  in  the  sacred 
robe.  Form  the  procession  to  bear  her  to  the  threshold 
of  the  abode  of  the  glorious  and  the  immortal. 

Yaouma.    Come ! 

A  number  of  the  women  rise  and  go  out  right  with 
Yaouma. 

High  Priest.  To-day,  at  the  hour  when  Ammon-Ra 
came  forth  from  the  underworld,  I  entered  the  sanctu- 

211 


212  False  Gods  Act  V 

ary.  Face  to  face  with  the  god,  I  heard  his  words, 
which  now  you  shall  hear  from  me.  These  are  the  com- 
mands of  the  God.  Rheou !  [Rheou  stands  up]  You 
have  been  to  make  submission  to  the  Pharaoh  —  Light 
of  Ra  —  you  have  implored  his  mercy.  You  have  sworn 
on  the  body  of  your  father,  to  serve  him  faithfully,  and 
you  have  given  that  body  to  him  in  pledge  of  your 
obedience.  You  have  denounced  to  his  anger  and  jus- 
tice those  who  conceived  the  impious  plot  to  dethrone 
the  Lord  of  Egypt.  You  have  declared  that  if  you  did 
permit  the  images  of  the  gods  to  be  thrown  down  before 
you,  it  was  because  the  spells  of  Satni  had  clouded  your 
reason.  Ammon  has  proclaimed  to  me  that  you  are  sin- 
cere !  You  are  pardoned,  on  conditions  which  I  shall 
presently  impart.  [Rheou  bows  and  kneels  down] 
Satni !  [Satni  stands  up.  He  casts  down  his  eyes,  he  is 
steeped  in  sorrow  and  shame]  Satni,  you  have  admitted 
and  proclaimed  the  power  of  the  gods,  whom  you  dared 
to  deny.  You  have  bowed  you  down  before  them.  Once, 
in  the  temple,  you  took  the  first  priestly  vows ;  your 
life  is  therefore  sacred.  But  you  stand  now  reproved. 
This  very  day  you  will  quit  Egypt.  Withdraw  from 
the  Gods  !  [Satni,  with  eyes  on  the  ground,  withdraws, 
the  people  shrink  aside  to  let  him  pass,  abusing  him  in 
whispers,  shaking  their  fists,  and  some  even  striking 
him.  He  goes  to  the  terrace  down  left  where  he  stands, 
hiding  his  face  on  his  arm]  Ammon  has  spoken  other 
words.  [The  people  turn  from  Satni]  All  you  who 
are  here,  you  are  guilty  of  the  most  odious,  the  most 
monstrous  of  crimes.  You  are  all  deserving  of  death. 
Such  is  the  decree  of  the  God. 

All.     O  Ammon !     Pity !     Pity !    Ammon ! 

High  Priest.  Cease  your  sobs !  Cease  your  cries  ! 
Cease  your  useless  prayers  !  Hear  the  God  who  speaks 
through  my  mouth. 

All.     Be  kind  !  Thou  !    Thou  !     Have  pity  !    Beseech 


Act  V  False  Gods  213 

the  God  for  us,  we  implore  thee !  We  would  not  die. 
Not  death !   not  death !   not  death ! 

High  Priest.  Yes  —  I  —  I  have  pity  on  you.  But 
your  crime  is  so  great !  Have  you  considered  well  the 
enormity  of  your  sin?  None  can  remember  to  have  seen 
the  like.  The  Gods  !  To  overthrow  the  Gods  !  And  such 
Gods !  Ammon  and  Thoueris  !  I  would  I  might  disarm 
their  wrath.  But  what  shall  I  offer  them  in  your  name 
that  may  equal  your  offence? 

People.  All !  Take  all  we  possess,  but  spare  our 
lives. 

High  Priests.     All  you  possess  !     'T  is  little  enough. 

People.     Take  our  crops. 

High  Priest.  And  who  then  will  feed  you?  Al- 
ready you  pay  tithes.  I  will  offer  a  fourtli  of  your  har- 
vests for  ten  years.  But  't  is  little.  Even  did  I  say 
you  would  give  half  of  all  that  is  in  your  homes,  should 
I  succeed?     And  would  you  give  it  me? 

People.     Yes !     Yes ! 

High  Priest.  Still  it  will  not  be  enough.  Hear 
what  the  God  hath  breathed  to  me.  There  must  be 
prayers,  ceaseless  prayers  in  the  temple.  Every  year 
ten  of  your  daughters  must  enter  the  house  of  the  God 
to  be  consecrated. 

People.     Our  daughters  !     Ammon  !     Our  daughters  ! 

High  Priest.  The  God  is  good !  The  God  is  good ! 
Lo !  I  hear  him  pronounce  the  words  of  pardon.  But 
further,  you  must  needs  assist  the  Pharaoh  to  carry  out 
the  divine  commands.  Ammon  wills  that  the  Ethiopian 
infidels  be  chastised.  All  who  are  of  an  age  to  figlit 
will  join  the  army,  that  is  on  the  eve  of  departure. 

People  [in  consternation']     Oh!   the  war  !   the  war  ! 

High  Priest.  Proud  Ethiopia  threatens  invasion  to 
Egypt.  You  must  defend  your  tombs,  your  homes,  and 
your  women.     Would  you  become  slaves  of  the  blacks? 

People.     No,  no,  we  would  not ! 


214  False  Gods  Act  V 

High  Priest.  You  will  go  to  punish  the  foes  of  your 
kings  ? 

People.     We  will  go. 

High  Priest.  And  what  will  be  your  reward .''  Know 
you  not  that  victory  will  be  yours,  because  the  god  is 
with  you.  And  if  some  fall  in  battle,  should  we  not 
all  envy  their  fate,  since  they  leave  this  world  to  go 
towards  Osiris.  The  arrows  of  your  foes  will  fall  harm- 
less at  your  feet,  like  wounded  birds.  Their  swords 
shall  bend  on  your  invulnerable  bodies.  The  fire  they 
light  against  you  will  become  as  perfumed  water.  All 
this  you  know  to  be  true.  You  know  that  your  gods 
protect  you.  You  know  they  are  all-powerful,  because, 
yesterday,  you  all  did  see  how  the  stone  image  of  the 
goddess  Isis  did  bow,  to  show  you  she  protects  you. 

People.     To  the  war  !     To  the  war !     To  Ethiopia ! 

Satni  [leaping  up  to  the  terrace^  I  have  been  coward 
too  long!  [To  the  crowd]  The  miracle  of  yesterday 
—  't  was  I  —  't  was  I  who  worked  it. 

General  uproar. 

High  Priest.  I  deliver  this  man  to  you,  and  I  deliver 
you  to  him.     You  will  not  let  him  deceive  you  twice. 

Execrations  of  the  people,  Satni  cannot  speak.  The 
High  Priest  is  borne  out  on  his  throne  accompanied  by 
Rheou. 

Satni  \^when  the  uproar  subsides]  I  was  in  the 
temple  — 

People.     That  is  a  lie ! 

Satni.  It  was  I  who  made  the  head  of  the  image 
bow. 

People.  He  blasphemes.  Have  done  !  Have  done  ! 
Let  him  not  blaspheme ! 

Satni.     It  was  I !     And  I  ask  your  forgiveness. 

A  Man.  Why  should  you  do  it,  if  you  despise  our 
gods? 

Satni.     I  did  it  out  of  pity. 


Act  V  False  Gods  215 

People.     We  have  no  need  of  your  pity. 

Satni.  That  is  true.  You  have  need  only  of  my 
courage.  And  I  failed  you.  I  was  touched  by  your 
tears.     I  was  weak,  thinking  to  be  kind. 

A  Man.  You  are  not  kind.  You  would  have  handed 
us  over  to  foreign  gods. 

People.     Yes  !   yes  !   that  is  true  ! 

Satni.  I  gave  you  the  lie  that  you  begged  for.  I 
wanted  to  lull  your  sorrows  to  sleep. 

A  Man.  You  have  brought  down  on  us  the  anger 
of  the  gods. 

Another.  The  evils  that  crush  us,  't  is  you  have 
let  them  loose  on  us. 

All.  Yes,  yes !  Liar !  Curse  you !  Let  him  be 
accursed ! 

Satni.  Curse  me.  You  are  right.  I  am  guilty.  I 
had  not  the  strength  to  persevere ;  to  lead  you,  in  spite 
of  your  tears,  to  the  summits  I  would  lead  you  to.  To 
still  a  few  sobs,  to  give  hope  to  some  who  were  stricken, 
I  worked  the  miracle ;  and,  beholding  that  false  miracle, 
you  made  submission.  I  have  confirmed,  I  have  strength- 
ened the  empire  of  the  lie. 

A  Man.     'T  was  you  who  lied. 

Satni.  I  have  given  back  your  minds,  for  another 
age,  to  slavery  and  debasement.  I  have  given  back  to 
the  priests  their  power  that  was  endangered.  I  have 
given  them  means  to  increase  your  burdens,  to  take  your 
daughters,  to  send  you  to  a  war,  covetous,  murderous, 
and  unjust. 

A  Man,     You  are  a  spy  from  Ethiopia ! 

Another.     You  are  a  traitor  to  your  country ! 

All.     Yes  !    a  traitor !     Death  to  the  traitor ! 

Satni,  And  to  defend  your  tyrants,  you  will  kill 
men  as  wretched  as  yourselves,  dupes  like  you,  and 
like  you  enslaved. 

A  Man.     We  know  you  are  paid  to  betray  Egypt ! 


216  False  Gods  Act  V 

All.  Yes,  we  know  it !  We  know  the  price  of  your 
treason ! 

Another.  You  would  sell  Egypt,  and  't  is  to  weaken 
us  you  would  overthrow  our  gods. 

All.     Traitor !     Traitor ! 

Satni.  If  I  am  a  traitor,  't  is  to  my  own  cause !  But 
a  while  ago  I  was  proud  of  my  deed,  thinking  I  had 
sacrificed  myself  to  you.  Alas !  I  only  sacrificed  your 
future  to  my  pity.  I  wept  for  you;  to  weep  for  mis- 
fortune —  what  is  that  but  an  easy  escape  from  the 
duty  of  fighting  its  cause?  I  pitied  you.  Pity  is  but  a 
weakness,  a  submission  —  To  perpetuate  the  falsehood 
of  the  miracle,  and  the  life  of  atonement  to  comCj  is  to 
drug  misery  to  sleep. 

A  Man.  Misery !  —  can  you  give  us  anything  to 
cure  it? 

They  laugh. 

Satni.  They  have  implanted  in  you,  the  belief  that 
misery  is  immortal,  invincible.  By  my  falsehood,  I  too 
have  seemed  to  admit  this;  and  thus  I  have  helped 
those,  in  whose  interest  it  is  that  misery  should  last  for 
ever. 

A  Man.     He  insults  the  Pharaoh ! 

Another.     Do  not  insult  our  priests ! 

Satni.  Had  there  been  no  miracle,  you  would  have 
despaired  —  you  would  have  sorrowed.  I  ought  to  have 
faced  that.  I  ought  to  have  faced  the  death  of  a  few, 
to  save  the  future  of  all.  We  go  forward  only  by  de- 
stroying. What  matter  blood  and  pain !  Pain  and  blood 
—  never  a  child  is  born  without  them  !  I  would  — 
An  angry  outburst. 

A  Woman.  Kill  him  !  Kill  him !  He  says  we  must 
put  our  children  to  death ! 

Satni.     All  are  glorious  who  preach  new  efforts  — 

People.     Death  !     Death  to  the  traitor ! 

Satni.     All  are  infamous  who  preach  resignation  — 


Act  V  False  Gods  217 

People.     Enough!    Kill  him!    Death! 

Satni.  It  is  in  this  world  that  the  wretched  must 
find  their  paradise,  it  is  here  that  every  one's  good  must 
be  sought  with  a  zeal  that  knows  no  limit,  save  respect 
for  the  good  of  others. 

A  hurst  of  laughter. 

People.  He  is  mad !  He  knows  not  what  he  says  ! 
He  is  mad ! 

Yaouma  is  borne  on  right  on  a  litter  carried  by  young 
girls.  She  is  decked  out  like  an  idol;  she  stands  erect, 
half  in  ecstasy. 

People.  Yaouma !  The  chosen  of  Ammon-Ra ! 
Glory  to  her  who  goes  to  save  Egypt ! 

With  jubilant  cries  the  procession  goes  slowly  towards 
the  gates  at  the  back,  preceded  and  surrounded  by  musi- 
cians and  dancers. 

Satni.  Yaouma !  Yaouma !  One  word !  One  look 
of  farewell !     Yaouma  !     'T  is  I,  Satni !     Look  on  me  ! 

The  acclamations  drown  his  voice.  Yaouma  is 
"wrapped  in  her  soul's  dream.  She  passes  without  hear- 
ing Satni's  voice.     The  crowd  follows  her. 

MiERis  [to  Delethi  who  supports  her]  Lead  me  to 
Satni  —  go —  [To  Satni]  Satni,  your  words  have  sunk 
deep  in  my  heart  —  Yaouma,  they  tell  me,  did  not  hear 
your  voice.  She  is  lost  in  the  joy  of  sacrifice.  The 
need  to  make  sacrifice  is  in  us  all.  If  the  gods  are  not, 
to  whom  shall  we  sacrifice  ourselves  ? 

Satni.     To  those  who  suffer. 

MiERis.     To  those  who  suffer. 

During  this  Bitiou  has  come  slowly  down  behind 
Satni. 

BiTiou.     Look  !     He  too,  he  will  fall  down  ! 

He  plunges  a  dagger  in  Satni's  back.  Delethi  draws 
Mieris  away.     Satni  falls. 

Satni  [raising  himself  slightly]  It  was  you  who 
struck  me,  Bitiou  —  [lie  looks  long  and  sadly  at  him] 


218  False  Gods  Act  V 

I  pity  you  with  all  my  heart  —  with  all  my  heart.  [He 
dies^ 

Bitiou  looks  at  the  blood  on  the  dagger,  and  flings  it 
away  in  horror.  Then  he  crouches  down  by  Satni  and 
begins  to  cry  softly. 

Delethi  [to  Mieris]     Mistress,  come  and  pray! 

MiERis.  No,  I  do  not  believe  in  gods  in  whose  name 
men  kill. 

Outside  are  heard  the  trumpets  and  acclamations  that 
accompany  Yaouma  to  the  Nile. 

Curtain 


THE    RED   ROBE 


CHARACTERS 

MouzoN 
Vagret 
Etchepare 
mondoubleau 
La  Bouzole 

BuNERAT 

Attorney-General 

President    of   Assizes 

Delorme 

Ardeuil 

Bridet 

Police  Sergeant 

Recorder 

Placat 

Doorkeeper 

Yanetta 

Etchepare's   Mother 

Madame  Vagret 

Madame  Bunerat 

Bertha 

Catialena 

Time  —  The  present. 


ACT    I 

Scene  I:  —  A  small  reception-room  in  an  old  house 
at  Mauleon. 

The  curtain  rises,  revealing  Madame  Vagret  in  even- 
ing dress;  she  is  altering  the  position  of  the  chairs  to 
her  own  satisfaction.  Enter  Bertha,  also  in  evening 
dress,  a  newspaper  in  her  hand. 

Bertha.  Here 's  the  local  paper,  the  Journal.  I 
sent  the  Official  Gazette  to  father;  he  has  just  come 
home  from  the  Court.     He  's  dressing. 

Madame  Vagret.     Is  the  sitting  over.'' 

Bertha.     No,  not  yet. 

Madame  Vagret  [^taking  the  newspaper']  Are  they 
still  discussing  the  case? 

Bertha.     As  usual. 

Madame  Vagret.  One  does  n't  need  to  search  long. 
There's  a  big  head-line  at  the  top  of  the  page:  "  The 
Irissary  Murder."  They  're  attacking  your  father  now  ! 
[^She  reads]  "  Monsieur  Vagret,  our  District  At- 
torney." [She  continues  to  read  to  herself]  And  there 
are  sub-headings  too :  "  The  murderer  still  at  large." 
As  if  that  was  our  fault !  "  Justice  asleep  !  "  Justice 
asleep  indeed !  How  can  they  say  such  things  when 
your  father  has  n't  closed  his  eyes  for  a  fortnight !  Can 
they  complain  that  he  has  n't  done  his  duty }  Or  that 
Monsieur  Delorme,  the  examining  magistrate,  is  n't  do- 
ing his  ?  He  has  made  himself  quite  ill,  poor  man ! 
Only  the  day  before  yesterday  he  had  a  tramp  arrested 
because  his  movements  were  ever  so  little  suspicious ! 
So  you  see!  No!  I  tell  you  these  journalists  are 
crazy ! 

221 


222  The  Red  Robe  Act  I 

Bertha.  It  seems  they  are  going  to  have  an  article 
in  the  Basque  paper  too. 

Madame  Vagret.     The  Eskual  Herria! 

Bertha.     So  the  chemist  told  me. 

Madame  Vagret.  I  don't  care  a  sou  for  that.  The 
Attorney-General  does  n't  read  it. 

Bertha.  On  the  contrary,  father  was  saying  the 
other  day  that  the  Attorney-General  has  translations 
sent  him  of  every  article  dealing  with  the  magistracy. 

Madame  Vagret.  The  Attorney-General  has  trans- 
lations sent  him  !  Oh  well,  never  mind.  Anyhow,  let 's 
change  the  subject!  How  many  shall  we  be  this  even- 
ing .''     You  've  got  the  list .'' 

Bertha  [She  takes  the  list  from  the  over-mantel^ 
The  President  of  Assizes  —  the  President  of  the 
Court  — 

Madame  Vagret.  Yes.  Yes,  that's  all  right;  nine 
in  all,  is  n't  it } 

Bertha.     Nine. 

Madame  Vagret.  Nine !  To  have  nine  people  com- 
ing to  dinner,  and  not  to  know  the  exact  hour  at  which 
they  '11  arrive  !  That 's  what 's  so  trying  about  these 
dinners  we  have  to  give  at  the  end  of  a  session  —  in 
honor  of  the  President  of  Assizes.  One  dines  when  the 
Court  rises.  When  the  Court  rises !  Well,  we  '11  await 
the  good  pleasure  of  these  gentlemen !  [She  sighs] 
Well,  child ! 

Bertha.     Mother  ? 

Madame  Vagret.  Are  you  still  anxious  to  marry  a 
magistrate  ? 

Bertha  [with  conviction]      I  am  not ! 

Madame  Vagret.     But  you  were  two  years  ago ! 

Bertha.     I  am  not  now ! 

Madame  Vagret.  Look  at  us !  There 's  your 
father.  Procurator  of  the  Republic  —  Public  Prose- 
cutor—  State  Attorney;    in  a  court  of  the  third  class. 


Act  I  The  Red  Robe  223 

it 's  true,  because  he  's  not  a  wire-puller,  because  he 
has  n't  played  the  political  game.  And  yet  he  's  a  valu- 
able man  —  no  one  can  deny  that.  Since  he  's  been 
District  Attorney  he  has  secured  three  sentences  of 
penal  servitude  for  life !  And  in  a  country  like  this, 
where  crimes  are  so  frightfully  rare !  That 's  pretty 
good,  don't  you  think.''  Of  course,  I  know  he'll  have 
had  three  acquittals  in  the  session  that  ends  to-day. 
Granted.  But  that  was  mere  bad  luck.  And  for  pro- 
tecting society  as  he  does  —  what  do  they  pay  him  ? 
Have  you  any  idea? 

Bertha.  Yes,  I  know ;  you  've  often  told  me, 
mother. 

Madame  Vagret.  And  I  '11  tell  you  again.  Count- 
ing the  stoppages  for  the  pension,  he  gets  altogether, 
and  for  everything,  three  hundred  and  ninety-five  francs 
and  eiglity-three  centimes  a  month.  And  then  we  are 
obliged  to  give  a  dinner  for  nine  persons  in  honor  of 
the  President  of  Assizes,  a  Councillor !  Well,  at  all 
events,  I  suppose  everything  is  ready .''  Let 's  see.' 
My  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes  —  is  it  there?  Yes.  And 
my  armchair  —  is  that  in  the  right  place  ?  \^She  sits 
in  it^  Yes.  {^As  though  receiving  a  guest^  Pray  be 
seated,  Monsieur  le  President.  I  hope  that 's  right. 
And  Monsieur  Dufour,  who  was  an  ordinary  magistrate 
when  your  father  was  the  same,  when  we  were  living 
at  Castelnaudery,  he  's  now  President  of  the  second 
class  at  Douai,  and  he  was  only  at  Brest  before  he  was 
promoted ! 

Bertha.     Really ! 

Madame  Vagret  [searching  for  a  book  on  the  over- 
mantel]     Look  in  the  Year  Book. 

Bertha.     I  '11  take  your  word  for  it. 

Madame  Vagret.  You  may !  The  Judicial  Year 
Book.      I  know  it  by  heart! 

Bertha,  But  then  father  may  be  appointed  Coun- 
cillor any  day  now. 


224  The  Red  Robe  Act  I 

Madame  Vagret.  He  's  been  waiting  a  long  time  for 
his  appointment  as  Councillor. 

Bertha.  But  it 's  as  good  as  settled  now.  He  was 
promised  the  first  vacancy,  and  Monsieur  Lefevre  has 
just  died. 

Madame  Vagret.  I  hope  to  God  you  are  right.  If 
we  fail  this  time,  we  're  done  for.  We  shall  be  left  at 
Mauleon  until  he  's  pensioned  off.  What  a  misfortune 
it  is  that  they  can't  put  their  hands  on  that  wretched 
murderer !  Such  a  beautiful  crime  too !  We  really  had 
some  reason  for  hoping  for  a  death  sentence  this  time ! 
The  first,  remember ! 

Bertha.  Don't  worry,  motherkins.  There 's  still 
a  chance. 

Madame  Vagret.  It 's  easy  for  you  to  talk.  You 
see  the  newspapers  are  beginning  to  grumble.  They 
reproach  us,  they  say  we  are  slack.  My  dear  child, 
you  don't  realize  —  there 's  a  question  of  sending  a 
detective  down  from  Paris !  It  would  be  such  a  dis- 
grace !  And  everything  promised  so  well !  You  can't 
imagine  how  excited  your  father  was  when  they  waked 
him  up  to  tell  him  that  an  old  man  of  eighty-seven  had 
been  murdered  in  his  district !  He  dressed  himself  in 
less  than  five  minutes.  He  was  very  quiet  about  it. 
But  he  gripped  my  hands.  "  I  think,"  he  said,  "  I  think 
we  can  count  on  my  nomination  this  time !  "  [She 
sighs]  And  now  everything  is  spoilt,  and  all  through 
this  ruffian  who  won't  let  them  arrest  him!  [Another 
sigh]      What 's  the  time  ? 

Bertha.     It  has  just  struck  six. 

Madame  Vagret.  Write  out  the  menus.  Don't  for- 
get. You  must  write  only  their  titles  —  his  Honor 
the  President  of  Assizes,  his  Honor  the  President  of 
the  High  Court  of  Mauleon,  and  so  forth.  It 's  the 
preamble  to  the  menu.  Don't  forget.  Here  is  your 
father.     Go-  and   take   a    look    round    the   kitchen    and 


Act  I  The  Red  Robe  225 

appear  as  if  you  were  busy.      [Bertha  leaves  the  room. 
Vagret  enters  in  evening  dress^ 

Scene   II:  —  Vagret,  Madame  Vagret. 

Madame  Vagret.     Hasn't  the  Court  risen  yet? 

Vagret.  When  I  left  my  substitute  was  just  getting 
up  to  ask  for  the  adjournment. 

Madame  Vagret.     Nothing  new? 

Vagret.     About  the  murder?     Nothing. 

Madame  Vagret.  But  your  Monsieur  Delorme  —  the 
examining  magistrate  —  is  he  really  looking  for  the 
murderer  ? 

Vagret.     He  's  doing  what  he  can. 

Madame  Vagret.  Well,  if  I  were  in  his  place,  it 
seems  to  me  —  Oh,  they  ought  to  have  women  for  ex- 
amining magistrates  !  [Distractedly']  Is  there  nothing 
in  the  Official  Gazette? 

Vagret  [dispirited  and  anxious]      Yes. 

Madame  Vagret.  And  j^ou  never  told  me.  Any- 
thing that  affects  us? 

Vagret.  No.  Nanteuil  has  been  appointed  Advo- 
cate-General. 

Madame  Vagret.     Nanteuil? 

Vagret.     Yes. 

Madame  Vagret.  Oh,  that 's  too  bad !  Why,  he 
was  only  an  assistant  at  Luneville  when  you  were 
substitute  there ! 

Vagret.  Yes.  But  he  has  a  cousin  who  's  a  deputy. 
You  can't  compete  with  men  like  that.  [A  pause. 
Madame  Vagret  sits  down  and  begins  to  cry] 

Madame  Vagret.     We  have  n't  a  chance. 

Vagret.  My  dearest !  Come,  come,  you  are  wrong 
there. 

Madame  Vagret  [still  tearful]  My  poor  darling! 
I  know  very  well  it  is  n't  your  fault ;  you  do  your  best. 


226  The  Red  Robe  Act  I 

Your  only  failing  is  that  you  are  too  scrupulous,  and 
I  am  not  the  one  to  reproach  you  for  that.  But  what 
can  you  expect  ?  It 's  no  use  talking ;  everybody  gets 
ahead  of  us.  Soon  you  '11  be  the  oldest  District  At- 
torney in  France. 

Vagret.     Come,  come !     Where  's  the  Year  Book  ? 

Madame  Vagret  [still  in  the  same  tone]  It 's  there 
—  the  dates,  the  length  of  service.     See  further  on,  dear. 

Vagret  [throwing  the  Year  Book  aside]  Don't  cry 
like  that!     Remember  I  'm  chosen  to  succeed  Lefevre. 

Madame  Vagret.     I  know  that. 

Vagret.     I  'm  on  the  list  for  promotion. 

Madame  Vagret.     So  is  everybody. 

Vagret.  And  I  have  the  Attorney-General's  definite 
promise  —  and  the  presiding  judge's  too. 

Madame  Vagret.  It 's  the  deputy's  promise  you 
ought  to  have. 

Vagret.     What? 

Madame  Vagret.  Yes,  the  deputy's.  Up  to  now 
you  've  waited  for  promotion  to  come  to  you.  My  dear, 
you've  got  to  run  after  it!  If  you  don't  do  as 
the  others  do,  you  '11  simply  get  left  behind. 

Vagret.     I  am  still  an  honest  man. 

Madame  Vagret.  It  is  because  you  are  an  honest 
man  that  you  ought  to  try  to  get  a  better  appointment. 
If  the  able  and  independent  magistrates  allow  the  others 
to  pass  them  by,  what  will  become  of  the  magistracy.^ 

Vagret.     There  's  some  truth  in  what  you  say. 

Madame  Vagret.  If,  while  remaining  scrupulously 
honest,  you  can  better  our  position  by  getting  a  deputy 
to  push  you,  you  are  to  blame  if  you  don't  do  so.  After 
all,  what  do  they  ask  you  to  do.^*  Merely  that  you 
should  support  the  Ministry. 

Vagret.  I  can  do  that  honestly.  Its  opinions  are 
my  own. 

Madame  Vagret.     Then  you  'd  better  make  haste  — 


Act  I  The  Red  Robe  227 

for  a  ministry  does  n't  last  long !  To  support  the 
Ministry  is  to  support  the  Government  —  that  is,  the 
State  —  that  is.  Society.     It 's  to  do  your  duty. 

Vagret.     You  are  ambitious. 

Madame  Vagret,  No,  my  dear  —  but  we  must 
think  of  the  future.  If  you  knew  the  trouble  I  have 
to  make  both  ends  meet!  We  ought  to  get  Bertha 
married.  And  the  boys  will  cost  us  more  and  more 
as  time  goes  on.  And  in  our  position  we  are  bound 
to  incur  certain  useless  expenses  which  we  could  very 
well  do  without;  but  we  have  to  keep  up  appearances; 
we  have  to  "  keep  up  our  position."  We  want  Georges 
to  enter  the  Polytechnique,  and  that  'II  cost  a  lot  of 
money.  And  Henri,  if  he 's  going  to  study  law  — 
you  'd  be  able  to  help  him  on  all  the  better  if  you  held 
a  better  position. 

Vagret  [after  a  brief  silence]  I  have  n't  told  you 
everything. 

Madame  Vagret.     What  is  it? 

Vagret  [timidli^]  Cortan  has  been  appointed  Coun- 
cillor at  Amiens. 

Madame  Vagret  [exasperated]  Cortan !  That  idiot 
of  a  Cortan? 

Vagret.     Yes. 

Madame  Vagret,     This  is  too  much  ! 

Vagret.  What  can  you  expect?  The  new  Keeper 
of  the  Seals  is  in  his  department.  You  can't  fight 
against  that ! 

Madame  Vagret.  There's  always  something  —  Cor- 
tan !  Won't  she  be  making  a  show  of  herself  —  Ma- 
dame Cortan  —  who  spells  "indictment"  i-n-d-i-t-c? 
She  '11  be  showing  off  her  yellow  hat !  Don't  you  re- 
member her  famous  yellow  hat? 

Vagret.     No. 

Madame  Vagret.  It 's  her  husband  who  ought  to 
wear  that  color! 


228  The  Red  Robe  Act  I 

Vagret.     Rosa,  that 's  unjust. 

Madame  Vagret  [painfully  excited]  I  know  it  — 
but  it  does  me  good ! 

Enter  Catialena. 

Catialena.  Madame,  where  shall  I  put  the  parcel 
we  took  from  the  linen-closet  this  morning? 

Madame  Vagret.     What  parcel? 

Catialena.  The  parcel — jou  know,  Madame  — 
when  we  were  arranging  the  things  in  the  linen-closet. 

Madame  Vagret  [suddenly]  Oh  —  yes,  yes.  Take 
it  to  my  room. 

Catialena.     Where  shall  I  put  it  there? 

Madame  Vagret.  Oh  well,  put  it  down  here.  I  will 
put  it  away  myself. 

Catialena.  Very  good,  Madame.  [She  leaves  the 
room] 

Madame  Vagret  [snipping  at  the  parcel  and  speaking 
to  herself]  It 's  no  use  stuffing  it  with  moth-balls  — 
it  '11  all  be  moth-eaten  before  ever  you  wear  it. 

Vagret.     What  is  it? 

Madame  Vagret  [placing  the  parcel  on  the  table  and 
opening  the  wrapper]    Look  ! 

Vagret.  Ah,  yes  —  my  red  robe  —  the  one  you 
bought  for  me  —  in  advance  —  two  years  ago. 

Madame  Vagret.  Yes.  That  time  it  was  Gamard 
who  was  appointed  instead  of  you. 

Vagret.  What  could  you  expect?  Gamard  had  a 
deputy  for  his  brother-in-law ;  there  's  no  getting  over 
that.     The  Ministry  has  to  assure  itself  of  a  majority. 

Madame  Vagret.  And  to  think  that  in  spite  of  all 
my  searching  I  have  n't  been  able  to  discover  so  much 
as   a  municipal  councillor  among  our   relations ! 

Vagret.  Well  —  hide  this  thing.  It  torments  me. 
[He  returns  the  gown,  which  he  had  unfolded,  to  his 
wife]  In  any  case  I  dare  say  it  would  n't  fit  me 
now. 


Act  I  The  Red  Robe  229 

Madame  Vagret.  Oh,  they  fit  anybody,  these 
things ! 

Vagret.     Let 's  see  —  \^He  takes  off  his  coat^ 

Madame  Vagret.  And  it  means  a  thousand  francs 
more  a  year ! 

Vagret.  It  is  n't  faded.  [At  this  moment  Bertha 
enters.     Vagret  hides  the  red  gown]      What  is  it? 

Bertha.     It 's  only  me. 

Vagret.     You  startled  me. 

Bertha  [catching  sight  of  the  gown]  You  've  been 
appointed !     You  've  been  appointed  ! 

Vagret.     Do  be  quiet !     Turn  the  key  in  the  door ! 

Bertha.     Papa  has  been  appointed ! 

Madame  Vagret.  Do  as  you  're  told !  No,  he 
has  n't  been  appointed. 

Vagret.  It 's  really  as  good  as  new.  [He  slips  it 
on] 

Madame  Vagret.  Well,  I  should  hope  so !  I  took 
care  to  get  the  very  best  silk. 

Vagret.  Ah,  if  I  could  only  wear  this  on  my  back 
when  I  'm  demanding  the  conviction  of  the  Irissary 
murderer!  Say  what  you  like,  the  man  who  devised 
this  costume  was  no  fool !  It 's  this  sort  of  thing  that 
impresses  the  jury.  And  the  prisoner  too!  I've  seen 
him  unable  to  tear  his  eyes  from  the  gown  of  the  State 
Attorney !  And  you  feel  a  stronger  man  when  you 
wear  it.  It  gives  one  a  better  presence,  and  one's 
gestures  are  more  dignified:  "Gentlemen  of  the  court, 
gentlemen  of  the  jury!"  Couldn't  I  make  an  impres- 
sive indictment?  "Gentlemen  of  the  court,  gentlemen 
of  the  jury!  In  the  name  of  society,  of  which  I  am 
the  avenging  voice  —  in  the  name  of  the  sacred  interests 
of  humanity  —  in  the  name  of  the  eternal  principles  of 
morality  —  fortified  by  the  consciousness  of  my  "duty 
and  my  right  —  I  rise  —  [He  repeats  his  gesture]  I 
rise  to  demand  the  head  of  the  wretched  man  who  stands 
before  you  !  " 


230  The  Red  Robe  Act  I 

Madame  Vagret.     How  well  you  speak! 

Vagret,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  and  a  sigh, 
slowly  and  silently  removes  the  gown  and  hands  it  to 
his  wife. 

Vagret.     Here  —  put  it  away. 

Madame  Vagret.    There  's  the  bell. 

Bertha.     Yes. 

Madame  Vagret  \to  her  daughter]     Take  it. 

Bertha.  Yes,  mother.  [She  makes  a  parcel  of  the 
gown  and  is  about  to  leave  the  room] 

Madame  Vagret.     Bertha ! 

Bertha.     Yes,  mother ! 

Madame  Vagret  [tearfully]  Put  some  more  moth- 
balls  in  it  —  poor  child ! 

Bertha  goes  out.    Catialena  enters. 

Scene  III:  —  Vagret,  Madame  Vagret,  Catialena. 

Catialena  [holding  out  an  envelope]  This  has  just 
come  for  you,  sir,      [She  goes  out  again] 

Vagret.  What 's  this }  The  Basque  paper  —  the 
Eskual  Herria  —  an  article  marked  with  blue  pencil. 
[He  reads]  "  Eskual  herri  guzia  hamabartz  egun 
huntan  — "  How  's  one  to  make  head  or  tail  of  such 
a  barbarian  language ! 

Madame  Vagret  [reading  over  his  shoulder]  It 's 
about  you  — 

Vagret.     No  ! 

Madame  Vagret.  Yes.  There !  "  Vagret  procura- 
doreak  galdegin — "  Wait  a  minute.  [Calling  through 
the  further  doorway]     Catialena  !     Catialena  ! 

Vagret.     What  is  it? 

Madame  Vagret.  Catialena  will  translate  it  for  us. 
[To  Catialena,  who  has  entered]  Here,  Catialena, 
just  read  this  bit  for  us,  will  you? 

Catialena.  Why,  yes,  Madame.  [She  reads] 
"  Eta  gaitzegilia  ozda  oraino  gakpoian  Irrysaryko." 


Act  I  The  Red  Robe  231 

Vagret.     And  what  does  that  mean? 

Catialena,  That  means  —  they  have  n't  arrested 
the  Irissary  murderer  yet. 

Vagret.     We  know  that.     And  then? 

Catialena.  "  Baginakien  yadanik  dona  Mauleano 
tribunala  yuye  arin  edo  tzarrenda  berechiazela." 
That  means  there  are  no  magistrates  at  Mauleon  except 
those  they  've  got  rid  of  from  other  places,  and  who 
don't  know  their  business  —  empty  heads  they  've  got. 

Vagret.     Thanks  —  that 's  enough. 

Madame  Vagret.     No,  no  !     Go  on,  Catialena ! 

Catialena.     "  Yaun  hoyen  Biribi  —  " 

Madame  Vagret.     Biribi? 

Catialena.     Yes,  Madame. 

Madame  Vagret.  Well,  what  does  Biribi  mean  in 
Basque? 

Catialena.     I  don't  know. 

Madame  Vagret.  What?  You  don't  know?  You 
mean  you  don't  want  to  say?     Is  it  a  bad  word? 

Catialena.    Oh  no,  Madame,  I  should  know  it  then. 

Vagret.     Biribi  — 

Bertha.     Perhaps  it 's  a  nickname  they  give  you. 

Madame  Vagret.  Perhaps  that  *s  it.  [A  pause] 
Well? 

Catialena.     They  're  speaking  of  the  master. 

Madame  Vagret  [to  her  husband]  I  told  you  so. 
[To  Catialena]     Abusing  him? 

Vagret.  I  tell  you  that 's  enough !  [He  snatches 
the  paper  from  Catialena  and  puts  it  in  his  pocket]  Go 
back  to  the  kitchen.      Hurry  now  —  quicker  than  that ! 

Catialena.  Well,  sir,  I  swear  I  won't  tell  you  the 
rest  of  it. 

Vagret.     No  one  's  asking  you  to.     Be  off. 

Catialena.  I  knew  the  master  would  be  angry. 
[She  turns  to  go] 

Madame  Vagret.     Catialena! 


232  The  Red  Robe  Act  I 

Catialena.     Yes,  Madame? 

Madame  Vagret.  Really  now,  you  don't  know  what 
Biribi  means  ? 

Catialena,     No,  Madame,  I  swear  I  don't. 

Madame  Vagret.  That 's  all  right.  There 's  the 
bell  —  go  and  see  who  it  is.  \^Catialena  goes^  I  shall 
give  that  woman  a  week's  notice,  and  no  later  than  to- 
morrow. 

Vagret.     But  really  — 

Catialena  \_returning^  If  you  please,  sir,  it 's 
Monsieur  Delorme. 

Madame  Vagret.     Your  examining  magistrate  ? 

Vagret.  Yes.  He 's  come  to  give  me  his  reply. 
[To  Catialenalj      Show  him  in. 

Madame  Vagret.     What  reply? 

Vagret.     He  has  come  to  return  me  his  brief. 

Madame  Vagret.     The  brief? 

Vagret.  Yes.  I  asked  him  to  think  it  over  until 
this  evening. 

Madame  Vagret.     He  '11  have  to  stay  to  dinner. 

Vagret.  No.  You  know  perfectly  well  his  health 
—  Here  he  is.     Run  away. 

Madame  Vagret  [amiably,  as  she  goes  out]  Good- 
evening,  Monsieur  Delorme. 

Delorme.     Madame ! 

Scene  IV:  —  Vagret,  Delorme. 

Vagret.    Well,  my  dear  fellow,  what  is  it? 
Delorme.    Well,  it 's  no  —  positively  no. 
Vagret.     Why  ? 

Delorme.     I  've  told  you.      [A  pause] 
Vagret.     And  the  alibi  of  your  accused? 
Delorme.     I  've  verified  it. 
Vagret.     Does  it  hold  water? 
Delorme.     Incontestably. 

Vagret  [dejectedly]  Then  you  've  set  your  man  at 
liberty  ? 


Act  I  The  Red  Robe  233 

Delorme   [regretfully]      I  simply  had  to. 

Vagret  [the  same]  Obviously.  [A  pause]  There 
is  not  a  chance.^ 

Delorme.     No. 

Vagret.     Well,  then? 

Delorme.  Well,  1  beg  you  to  give  the  brief  to  some- 
one else. 

Vagret.     Is  that  final? 

Delorme.  Yes.  You  see,  my  dear  fellow,  I  'm  too 
old  to  adapt  myself  to  the  customs  of  the  day.  I  'm 
a  magistrate  of  the  old  school,  just  as  you  are.  I  in- 
herited from  my  father  certain  scruples  which  are  no 
longer  the  fashion.  These  daily  attacks  in  the  press 
get  on  my  nerves. 

Vagret.     They  would  cease  at  the  news  of  an  arrest. 

Delorme.  Precisely.  I  should  end  by  doing  some- 
thing foolish.  Well,  I  have  done  something  foolish 
already.  I  should  not  have  arrested  that  man  if  I  had 
not  been  badgered  as  I  was. 

Vagret.  He  was  a  tramp.  You  gave  him  shelter 
for  a  few  days.     There  's  no  great  harm  done  there. 

Delorme.     All  the  same  — 

Vagret.  You  let  yourself  be  too  easily  discouraged. 
To-night  or  to-morrow  something  may  turn  up  to  put 
you  on  a  new  scent. 

Delorme.  Even  then  —  Do  you  know  what  they 
are  saying?  They  are  saying  that  Maitre  Pla^at,  the 
Bordeaux  advocate,  is  coming  to  defend  the  prisoner. 

Vagret.     I  don't  see  what  he  has  to  gain  by  that. 

Delorme.  He  wants  to  come  forward  at  the  next 
election  in  our  arrondissement  —  and  he  counts  on  at- 
tacking certain  persons  in  his  plea,  so  as  to  gain  a  little 
popularity. 

Vagret.     How  can  that  affect  you? 

Delorme.  Why,  he  can  be  present  at  all  the  inter- 
rogations of  the  accused.     The  law  allows  it  —  and  as 


234  The  Red  Robe  Act  I 

he  is  ravenous  for  publicity,  he  would  tell  the  news- 
papers just  what  he  pleased,  and  if  my  proceedings 
did  n't  suit  him,  I  'd  be  vilified  in  the  papers  day  after 
day. 

Vagret.     You  are  exaggerating. 

Delorme.  I  'm  not.  Nowadays  an  examination 
takes  place  in  the  market-place  or  the  editorial  offices 
of  the  newspapers  rather  than  in  the  magistrate's 
office. 

Vagret.  That  is  true  where  notorious  criminals  are 
concerned.  In  reality  the  new  law  benefits  them  and 
them  only  —  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  for  the  gen- 
eral run  of  accused  persons  — 

Delorme.  Seriously,  I  beg  you  to  take  the  brief 
back. 

Vagret.  Come !  You  can't  imagine  that  Maitre 
Pla9at,  who  has  a  hundred  cases  to  plead,  can  be 
present  at  all  your  interrogations.  You  know  what 
usually  happens.  He  '11  send  some  little  secretary  — 
if  he  sends  anyone. 

Delorme.  I  beg  you  not  to  insist,  my  dear  Vagret. 
My  decision  is  irrevocable. 

Vagret.     Then  — 

Delorme.  Allow  me  to  take  my  leave.  I  don't 
want  to  meet  my  colleagues  who  are  dining  with 
you. 

Vagret.    Then  I  '11  see  you  to-morrow.    I  'm  sorry  — 

Delorme.     Good-night. 

He  goes  out.  Madame  Vagret  at  once  enters  by 
another  door. 

Scene  V:  —  Vagret,  Madame  Vagret,  then  Bertha, 
Bunerat,  La  Bouzole,  Mouzon. 

Madame  Vagret.  Well,  I  heard  —  he  gave  you  back 
the  brief. 

Vagret.     Yes  —  his  health  — ■  the  newspapers  — 


Act  I  The  Red  Robe  235 

Madame  Vagret.    And  now  ? 

Vagret.      Be    careful.      No    one    suspects    anything 

yet. 

Madame    Vagret.      Make    your   mind    easy.      [She 
listens]     This  time  it  is  our  guests. 

Bertha  [entering]      Here  they  are. 

Madame  Vagret.  To  your  work.  Bertha!  And  for 
me  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes. 

They  sit  down.     A  pause. 

Bertha.     They  are  a  long  time. 

Madame  Vagret.  It 's  Madame  Bunerat.  Her  man- 
ners always  take  time. 

The  Manservant.  His  Honor  the  President  of  the 
Court  and  Madame  Bunerat. 

Madame  Vagret.  How  do  you  do,  dear  Madame 
Bunerat.''     [They  exchange  greetings] 

The  Manservant.  His  Honor  Judge  La  Bouzole. 
His  worship  Judge  Mouzon. 

Salutations ;   the  guests   seat   themselves. 

Madame  Vagret  [to  Madame  Bunerat]  Well, 
Madame,  so  another  session  's  finished ! 

Madame  Bunerat.     Yes,  at  last! 

Madame  Vagret.  Your  husband,  I  imagine,  is  not 
sorry. 

Madame  Bunerat.    Nor  yours,  I  'm  sure. 

Madame  Vagret.     And  the  President  of  Assizes.'* 

Bunerat.  He  will  be  a  little  late.  He  wants  to 
get  away  early  to-morrow  morning,  and  he  has  a  mass 
of  documents  to  sign.  You  must  remember  the  Court 
has  barely  risen.  When  we  saw  that  we  should  be 
sitting  so  late  we  sent  for  our  evening  clothes,  and  we 
changed  while  the  jury  was  deliberating;  then  we  put 
our  robes  on  over  them  to  pronounce  sentence. 

Madame  Vagret.     And  the  sentence  was? 

Bunerat.     An  acquittal. 


236  The  Red  Robe  Act  I 

Madame  Vagret.  Again!  Oh,  the  juries  are 
crazy ! 

Vagret.  My  dear,  you  express  yourself  just  a 
little  freely. 

Madame  Bunerat.  Now,  my  dear  Madame  Vagret, 
you  must  n't  worry   yourself. 

She  leads  her  up  the  stage. 

Bunerat  [fo  Vagret]  Yes,  my  dear  colleague,  an 
acquittal.     That  makes  three  this  session. 

MouzoN  [a  man  of  forty,  whiskered  and  foppish] 
Three  prisoners  whom  we  have  had  to  set  at  liberty 
because  we  could  n't  hold  them  for  other  causes. 

Bunerat.     A  regular  run  on  the  black! 

La  Bouzole  [a  man  of  seventy]  My  dear  colleagues 
would  prefer  a  run  on  the  red. 

Bunerat.  La  Bouzole,  you  are  a  cynic !  I  do  not 
understand  how  you  can  have  the  courage  to  joke  on 
such  a  subject. 

La  Bouzole.  I  shouldn't  joke  if  your  prisoners 
were  condemned. 

MouzoN.  I  'm  not  thinking  of  our  prisoners  —  I  'm 
thinking  of  ourselves.  If  you  imagine  we  shall  receive 
the  congratulations  of  the  Chancellery,  you  are  mis- 
taken. 

Bunerat.  He  does  n't  care  a  straw  if  the  Mauleon 
Court  does  earn  a  black  mark  in  Paris. 

La  Bouzole.  You  have  said  it,  Bunerat;  I  don't 
care  a  straw !  I  have  nothing  more  to  look  for.  I 
shall  be  seventy  years  old  next  week,  and  I  retire 
automatically.  Nothing  more  to  hope  for;  I  have  a 
right  to  judge  matters  according  to  my  own  conscience. 
I'm  out  of  school!  [He  gives  a  little  skip]  Don't 
get  your  backs  up  —  I  've  done  —  I  see  the  Year  Book 
over  there ;  I  'm  going  to  look  out  the  dates  of  the 
coming  vacation  for  you.  [He  takes  a  seat  to  the 
left^ 


Act  I  The  Red  Robe  237 

BuNERAT.  Well,  there  it  is.  [To  Vagrei]  The 
President  of  Assizes  is  furious. 

MouzoN.     It  won't  do  him  any  good  either. 

Vagret.     And  my  substitute? 

BuNERAT.     You  may  well  say  "  your  substitute  " ! 

MouzoN.  It 's  all  his  fault.  He  pleaded  extenuat- 
ing circumstances.     He ! 

BuNERAT.     Where  does  the  idiot  hail  from? 

Vagret.  He  's  far  from  being  an  idiot,  I  assure  you. 
He  was  secretary  to  the  Conference  in  Paris;  he  is  a 
doctor  of  laws  and  full  of  talent. 

BuNERAT.     Talent ! 

Vagret.  I  assure  you  he  has  a  real  talent  for 
speaking. 

BuNERAT.     So  we  observed. 

Vagret.     He  's  a  very  distinguished  young  fellow. 

BuNERAT  [with  emphasis']  Well!  When  a  man  has 
such  talent  as  that  he  becomes  an  advocate ;  he  does  n't 
enter  the  magistracy. 

Madame  Vagret  [to  La  Bousole,  who  approaches 
her]  So  really,  Monsieur  La  Bouzole,  it  seems  it 's 
the  fault  of  the  new  substitute. 

Madame  Bunerat.     Tell  us  all  about  it. 

La  Bouzole.  It  was  like  this.  [He  turns  towards 
the  ladies  and  continues  in  a  low  tone.  Bertha,  who 
has  entered  the  room,  joins  the  group,  of  which  Vagret 
also  forms  one] 

Mouzon  [to  Bunerat]  All  this  won't  hasten  our 
poor  Vagret's  nomination. 

Bunerat  [smiling]  The  fact  is  he  has  n't  a  chance 
at  the  present  moment,   poor  chap ! 

MouzoN.  Is  it  true  that  they  were  really  seriously 
thinking  of  him  when  there  is  a  certain  other  magis- 
trate in  the  same  court? 

Bunerat  [with  false  modesty]  I  don't  think  I  — 
Of  whom  are  you  speaking? 


238  The  Red  Robe  Act  I 

MouzoN.     Of  yourself,  my  dear  President. 

BuNERAT.  They  have  indeed  mentioned  my  name 
at  the  Ministry. 

MouzoN.  When  you  preside  at  Assizes  the  pro- 
ceedings will  be  far  more  interesting  than  they  are  at 
present. 

BuNERAT.  Now  how  cau  you  tell  that,  my  dear 
Mouzon .'' 

MouzoN.  Because  I  have  seen  you  preside  over  the 
Correctional  Court.      [He  laughs^ 

BuNERAT.     Why  do  you  laugh? 

MouzoN.  I  just  remembered  that  witty  remark  of 
yours  the  other  day. 

BuNERAT  [delighted]      I  don't  recall  it. 

MouzoN.     It  really  was  very  witty !     [He  laughs} 

BuNERAT.  What  was  it.''  Did  I  say  anything  witty .^ 
I   don't  remember. 

MouzoN.  Anything?  A  dozen  things  —  a  score. 
You  were  in  form  that  day !  What  a  figure  he  cut  — 
the  prisoner.  You  know,  the  fellow  who  was  so  badly 
dressed.     Cock  his  name  was. 

BuNERAT,  Ah,  yes!  When  I  said:  "Cock,  turn 
yourself  on  and  let  your  confession  trickle  out !  " 

MouzoN  [laughing]  That  was  it!  That  was  it! 
And  the  witness  for  the  defence  —  that  idiot.  Did  n't 
you  make  him  look  a  fool  ?  He  could  n't  finish  his 
evidence,  they  laughed  so  when  you  said:  "If  you 
wish  to  conduct  the  case,  only  say  so.  Perhaps  you  'd 
like  to  take  my  place  ?  " 

BuNERAT.  Ah,  yes !  Ladies,  my  good  friend  here 
reminds  me  of  a  rather  amusing  anecdote.  The  other 
day  —  it  was  in  the  Correctional  Court  — 

The  Manservant  [annomicing]  Monsieur  Gabriel 
Ardeuil. 


Act  I  The  Red  Robe  239 

Scene    VI:  —  The    same,    with    Ardeuil. 

Ardeuil  [fo  Madame  Vagret]  I  hope  you  '11  forgive 
me  for  coming  so  late.     I  was  detained  until  now. 

Madame  Vagret.  I  will  forgive  you  all  the  more 
readily  since  I  'm  told  you  have  had  such  a  success  to- 
day as  will  make  all  the  advocates  of  the  district 
jealous  of  you. 

Ardeuil  is  left  to  himself. 

La  Bouzole  [touchirig  him  on  the  shoulder^  Young 
man  —  come,  sit  down  by  me  —  as  a  favor.  Do  you 
realize  that  it  won't  take  many  trials  like  to-day's  to 
get  you  struck  off  the  rolls .'' 

Ardeuil.  I  could  n't  be  struck  off  the  rolls  be- 
cause — 

La  Bouzole.  Hang  it  all  —  a  man  does  himself  no 
good  by  appearing  singular. 

Ardeuil.  Singular !  But  you  yourself  —  Well,  the 
deliberations  are  secret,  but  for  all  that  I  know  you 
stand  for  independence  and  goodness  of  heart  in  this 
Court. 

La  Bouzole.  Yes,  I  've  permitted  myself  that 
luxury  —  lately. 

Ardeuil.     Lately? 

La  Bouzole.  Yes,  yes,  my  young  friend,  for  some 
little  time.  Because  for  some  little  time  I  've  been 
cured  of  the  disease  which  turns  so  many  honest  fel- 
lows into  bad  magistrates.  That  disease  is  the  fever 
of  promotion.  Look  at  those  men  there.  If  they 
weren't  infected  by  this  microbe,  they  would  be  just, 
kindly  gentlemen,  instead  of  cruel  and  servile  magis- 
trates. 

Ardeuil.  You  exaggerate,  sir.  The  French  magis- 
tracy is  not  — 

La  Bouzole.  It  is  not  venal  —  that 's  the  truth. 
Among  our   four  thousand  magistrates  you  might  per- 


240  The  Red  Robe  Act  I 

haps  not  find  one  —  you  hear  me,  not  one  —  even  among 
the  poorest  and  most  obscure  —  who  would  accept  a 
money  bribe  in  order  to  modify  his  judgment.  That 
is  the  glory  of  our  country's  magistracy  and  its  special 
virtue.  But  a  great  number  of  our  magistrates  are 
ready  to  be  complaisant  —  even  to  give  way  —  when  it 
is  a  question  of  making  themselves  agreeable  to  an  in- 
fluential elector,  or  to  the  deputy,  or  to  the  minister 
who  distributes  appointments  and  favors.  Universal 
suffrage  is  the  god  and  the  tyrant  of  the  magistrate. 
So  you  are  right  —  and  I  am  not  wrong. 

Ardeuil.  Nothing  can  deprive  us  of  our  independence. 

La  Bouzole.  That  is  so.  But,  as  Monsieur  de 
Tocqueville  once  remarked,  we  can  offer  it  up  as  a 
sacrifice. 

Ardeuil.  You  are  a  misanthrope.  There  are  mag- 
istrates whom  no  promise  of  any  kind  — 

La  Bouzole.  Yes,  there  are.  Those  who  are  not 
needy  or  who  have  no  ambitions.  Yes,  there  are  ob- 
scure persons  who  devote  their  whole  lives  to  their 
professions  and  who  never  ask  for  anything  for  them- 
selves. But  you  can  take  my  word  for  it  that  they 
are  the  exceptions,  and  that  our  Court  of  Mauleon, 
which  you  yourself  have  seen,  represents  about  the 
average  of  our  judicial  morality.  I  exaggerate,  you 
think?  Well!  Let  us  suppose  that  in  all  France  there 
are  only  fifty  Courts  like  this.  Suppose  there  are  only 
twenty  —  suppose  there  is  only  one.  It  is  still  one  too 
many!  Why,  my  young  friend,  what  sort  of  an  idea 
have  you  got  of  the  magistracy? 

Ardeuil.     It  frightens  me. 

La  Bouzole.     You  are  speaking  seriously  ? 

Ardeuil.     Certainly. 

La  Bouzole.    Then  why  did  you  become  a  substitute? 

Ardeuil.  Through  no  choice  of  my  own !  My 
people  pushed  me  into  the  profession. 


Act  I  The  Red  Robe  241 

La  Bouzole.  Yes.  People  look  on  the  magistracy 
as  a  career.  That  is  to  say,  from  the  moment  you 
enter  it  you  have  only  one  object  —  to  get  on.  [A 
pause] 

Ardeuil.  Yet  it  would  be  a  noble  thing  —  to  dis- 
pense justice  tempered  with  mercy. 

La  Bouzole.  Yes  —  it  should  be.  [A  pause]  Do 
you  want  the  advice  of  a  man  who  has  for  forty  years 
been  a  judge  of  the  third  class.'' 

Ardeuil.     I  should  value  it. 

La  Bouzole.  Send  in  your  resignation.  You  have 
mistaken  your  vocation.  You  wear  the  wrong  robe. 
The  man  who  attempts  to  put  into  practice  the  ideas 
you  have  expressed  must  wear  the  priest's  cassock. 

Ardeuil  [as  though  to  himself]  Yes  —  but  for  that 
one  must  have  a  simple  heart  —  a  heart  open  to  faith, 

Bunerat  [who  is  with  the  others]  If  only  we  had 
the  luck  to  have  a  deputy  of  the  department  for  Keeper 
of  the  Seals  !     Just  for  a  week ! 

La  Bouzole  [to  Ardeuil]  There,  my  boy,  that 's  the 
sort  of  thing  one  has  to  think  about. 

The  Manservant  [entering]  From  his  Honor  the 
President  of  Assizes.      [He  gives  Vagret  a  letter] 

Vagret.     He  isn't  coming? 

Madame  Vagret  [after  reading  the  note]  He  is  n't 
coming. 

Bunerat.     I  hardly  expected  him. 

Madame  Vagret.  A  nervous  headache  he  says.  He 
left  by  the  6:49  train. 

MouzoN.     That 's  significant ! 

Madame  Bunerat.  It  would  be  impossible  to  mark 
his  disapproval  more  clearly. 

Bunerat.     Three  acquittals  too  ! 

Madame  Bunerat.  If  it  had  been  a  question  of 
celebrated  pleaders  !     But  newly  fledged  advocates ! 

Bunerat.     Nobodies ! 


242  The  Red  Robe  Act  I 

Madame  Vagret  [to  her  daughter]  My  poor  child! 
What  will  his  report  be  like? 

Bertha.     What  report? 

Madame  Vagret.  Don't  you  know?  At  the  close  of 
each  session  the  President  submits  a  report  to  the 
Minister  —  Ah,  my  dear  Madame  Bunerat!  [The 
three  women  seat  themselves  at  the  back  of  the  stage] 

MouzoN.  Three  acquittals  —  and  the  Irissary  mur- 
der.    A  deplorable  record !     A  pretty  pickle  we  're  in. 

Bunerat.  You  know,  my  dear  Vagret,  I  'm  a  plain 
speaker.  No  shilly-shallying  about  me.  When  I  hunt 
the  boar  I  charge  right  down  on  him.  I  speak  plainly 
—  anyone  can  know  what 's  in  my  mind.  I  'm  the  son 
of  a  peasant,  I  am,  and  I  make  no  bones  about  it.  Well, 
it  seems  to  me  that  your  Bar  —  I  know,  of  course,  that 
you  lead  it  with  distinguished  integrity  and  honesty  — 
but  it  seems  to  me  —  how  shall  I  put  it  ?  —  that  it 's 
getting  weak.  Mouzon,  you  will  remember,  said  the 
same  thing  when  he  was  consulting  the  statistics. 

MouzoN.     It  really  is  a  very  bad  year. 

Bunerat.  You  know  it  was  a  question  of  making 
ourselves  an  exception  to  the  general  rule  —  of  getting 
our  Court  raised  to  a  higher  class.  Well,  Mauleon 
won't  be  raised  from  the  third  class  to  the  second  if 
the  number  of  causes  diminishes. 

MouzoN.  We  should  have  to  prove  that  we  had  been 
extremely  busy. 

Bunerat.  And  many  of  the  cases  you  settled  by 
arrangement  might  well  have  been  the  subject  of  pro- 
ceedings. 

Mouzon.  Just  reflect  that  this  year  we  have 
awarded  a  hundred  and  eighteen  years  less  imprison- 
ment than  we  did  last  year ! 

Bunerat.  And  yet  the  Court  has  not  been  to  blame. 
We  safeguard  the  interests  of  society  with  the  greatest 
vigilance. 


Act  I  The  Red  Robe  243 

MouzoN.  But  before  we  can  punish  you  must  give  us 
prisoners. 

Vagret.  I  have  recently  issued  the  strictest  orders 
respecting  the  repression  of  smuggling  offences,  which 
are  so  common  in  these  parts. 

BuNERAT.  Well,  that 's  something.  You  understand 
the  point  of  view  we  take.  It 's  a  question  of  the 
safety  of  the  public,  my  dear  fellow. 

MouzoN.  We  are  falling  behind  other  Courts  of  the 
same  class.  See,  I  've  worked  out  the  figures.  [He 
takes  a  paper  from  his  pocket-book  and  accidentally 
drops  other  papers,  which  La  Bouzole  picks  up]  I 
see  — 

La  Bouzole.  You  are  dropping  your  papers, 
Mouzon.  Is  this  yours  —  this  envelope.^  [He  reads] 
"  Monsieur  Benoit,  Officer  of  the  Navy,  Railway  Hotel, 
Bordeaux."     A  nice  scent  — 

Mouzon  [flurried,  taking  the  letter  from  La  Bouzole] 
Yes  —  a  letter  belonging  to  a  friend  of  mine. 

La  Bouzole.     And  this.''     The  Irissary  murder? 

Mouzon.  Ah,  yes  —  it 's  —  I  was  going  to  explain 
—  it 's  —  oh,  the  Irissary  murder,  yes  —  it 's  the  trans- 
lation Bunerat  gave  me  of  the  article  which  appeared 
in  the  Eskual  Herria  to-day.  It  is  extremely  unpleas- 
ant. They  say  Mauleon  is  a  sort  of  penal  Court  — 
something  like  a  Biribi  of  the  magistracy. 

Vagret.  But,  after  all,  I  can't  invent  a  murderer 
for  you  just  because  the  fellow  is  so  pig-headed  that 
he  won't  allow  himself  to  be  taken !  Delorme  has  sent 
the  description  they  gave  us  to  the  offices  of  all  the 
magistrates. 

Mouzon.  Delorme!  Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  think.? 
Well,  our  colleague  Delorme  is  making  a  mistake  in 
sticking  to  the  idea  that  the  criminal  is  a  tramp. 

Vagret.     But  there  is  a  witness. 

Mouzon.     The  witness  is  lying,  or  he  's  mistaken. 


244  The  Red  Robe  Act  I 

BuNERAT.  A  witness  who  saw  gipsies  leaving  the 
victim's  house  that  morning. 

MouzoN.  I  repeat,  the  witness  is  lying,  or  he  is 
mistaken. 

Vagret.     Why  so? 

MouzoN.     I  'm  certain  of  it. 

BuNERAT.      Why? 

MouzoN.  Because  I  'm  certain  the  murderer  was  n't 
a  gipsy. 

Vagret.     But  explain  — 

MouzoN.  It 's  of  no  use,  my  dear  friend.  I  know 
my  duty  to  my  colleague  Delorme  too  well  to  insist. 
I  've  said  too  much  already. 

Vagret.     Not  at  all. 

Bunerat.     By  no  means. 

MouzoN.  It  was  with  the  greatest  delicacy  that  I 
warned  our  colleague  Delorme  —  he  was  good  enough 
to  consult  me  and  show  me  day  by  day  the  information 
which  he  had  elicited  —  I  warned  him  that  he  was  on  a 
false  scent.  He  would  listen  to  nothing;  he  persisted 
in  searching  for  his  tramp.  Well,  let  him  search ! 
There  are  fifty  thousand  tramps  in  France.  After  all, 
I  am  probably  wrong.  Yet  I  should  be  surprised,  for 
in  the  big  towns  in  which  I  have  served  as  magistrate, 
and  in  which  I  found  myself  confronted,  not  merely 
now  and  again,  but  every  day,  so  to  speak,  with  diffi- 
culties of  this  sort,  I  was  able  to  acquire  a  certain 
practice  in  criminal  cases  and  a  certain  degree  of 
perspicacity. 

Vagret.  Obviously.  As  for  Delorme,  it  is  the  first 
time  he  has  had  to  deal  with  such  a  big  crime. 

MouzoN.  In  the  case  of  that  pretty  woman  from 
Toulouse,  at  Bordeaux,  a  case  which  made  a  good  deal 
of  stir  at  the  time,  it  was  I  who  forced  the  accused  to 
make  the  confession  that  led  her  to  the  guillotine. 

Bunerat  [admiringly']      Was  it  really? 


Act  I  The  Red  Robe  245 

Vagret.  My  dear  friend,  I  ask  you  most  seriously 
—  and  if  I  am  insistent,  it  is  because  I  have  reasons  for 
being  so  —  between  ourselves,  I  beg  you  to  tell  us  on 
what  you  base  your  opinion. 

MouzoN.  Well,  I  don't  want  to  hide  my  light  under 
a  bushel  —  I  '11  tell  you. 

BuNERAT.     We  are  listening. 

MouzoN.  Recall  the  facts.  In  a  house  isolated  as 
are  most  of  our  Basque  houses  they  find,  one  morning, 
an  old  man  of  eighty-seven  murdered  in  his  bed.  Serv- 
ants who  slept  in  the  adjacent  building  had  heard 
nothing.  The  dogs  did  not  bark.  There  was  robbery, 
it  is  true,  but  the  criminal  did  not  confine  himself  to 
stealing  hard  cash ;  he  stole  family  papers  as  well.  Re- 
member that  point.  And  I  will  call  your  attention  to 
another  detail.  It  had  rained  on  the  previous  evening. 
In  the  garden  footprints  were  discovered  which  were 
immediately  attributed  to  the  murderer,  who  was  so 
badly  shod  that  the  big  toe  of  his  right  foot  protruded 
from  his  boot.  Monsieur  Delorme  proceeds  along  the 
trail;  he  obtains  a  piece  of  evidence  that  encourages 
him,  and  he  declares  that  the  murderer  is  a  vagrant. 
I  say  this  is  a  mistake.  The  murderer  is  not  a  vagrant. 
Now  the  house  in  which  the  crime  was  committed  is  an 
isolated  house,  and  we  know  that  within  a  radius  of 
six  to  ten  miles  there  was  no  tramp  begging  before  the 
crime.  So  this  tramp,  if  there  was  one,  would  have 
eaten  and  drunk  on  the  scene  of  the  crime,  either  before 
or  after  striking  the  blow.  Now  no  traces  have  been 
discovered  which  permit  us  to  suppose  that  he  did  any- 
thing of  the  kind.  So  —  here  is  a  man  who  arrives 
in  a  state  of  exhaustion.  He  begs ;  he  is  refused.  He 
then  hides  himself,  and,  when  it  is  night,  he  robs  and 
assassinates.  There  is  wine  and  bread  and  other  food 
at  hand;  but  he  goes  his  way  without  touching  them. 
Is  this  probable?     No.     Don't  tell  me  that  he  was  dis- 


246  The  Red  Robe  Act  I 

turbed  and  so  ran  off;  it  is  not  true;  their  own  witness 
declares  that  he  saw  him  in  the  morning,  a  few  yards 
from  the  house,  whereas  the  crime  was  committed  be- 
fore midnight.  If  Monsieur  Delorme,  in  addition  to 
his  distinguished  qualities,  had  a  little  experience  of 
cases  of  this  kind,  he  would  realize  that  empty  bottles, 
dirty  glasses,  and  scraps  of  food  left  on  the  table  con- 
stitute, so  to  speak,  the  sign  manual  which  the  criminal 
vagrant  leaves  behind  him  on  the  scene  of  his  crime. 

BuNERAT.     True;  I  was  familiar  with  that  detail. 

La  Bouzole  [under  his  breath  to  Ardeuil]  That 
fellow  would  send  a  man  to  the  scaffold  for  the  sake 
of  seeming  to  know  something. 

Vagret.     Go  on  —  go  on. 

MouzoN.  Monsieur  Delorme  ought  to  have  known 
this  also:  in  the  life  of  the  vagrant  there  is  one  neces- 
sity which  comes  next  to  hunger  and  thirst  —  it  is  the 
need  of  footwear.  This  is  so  true  that  they  have  some- 
times been  known  to  make  this  need  a  pretext  for  de- 
manding an  appeal,  because  the  journey  to  the  Court 
of  Appeal  is  generally  made  on  foot,  so  that  the  adminis- 
tration is  obliged  to  furnish  shoes,  and,  as  these  are 
scarcely  worn  during  the  period  of  detention,  they  are 
in  good  condition  when  the  man  leaves  prison.  Now 
the  supposed  vagrant  has  a  foot  very  nearly  the  same 
size  as  that  of  his  victim.  He  has  —  you  yourself  have 
told  us  —  boots  which  are  in  a  very  bad  condition. 
Well,  gentlemen,  this  badly  shod  vagrant  does  not  take 
the  good  strong  boots  which  are  in  the  house !  I  will 
add  but  one  word  more.  If  the  crime  had  been  com- 
mitted by  a  passing  stranger  —  by  a  professional  mendi- 
cant —  will  you  tell  me  why  this  remarkable  murderer 
follows  the  road  which  passes  in  front  of  the  victim's 
house  —  a  road  on  which  he  would  find  no  resources  — 
a  road  on  which  houses  are  met  with  only  at  intervals 
of  two  or  three  miles  —  when  there  is,  close  at  hand. 


Act  I  The  Red  Robe  247 

another  road  which  runs  through  various  villages  and 
passes  numbers  of  farmhouses,  in  which  it  is  a  tradition 
never  to  refuse  hospitality  to  one  of  his  kind?  One 
word  more.  Why  does  this  vagrant  steal  family  papers 
which  will  betray  him  as  the  criminal  the  very  first 
time  he  comes  into  contact  with  the  police  ?  No,  gentle- 
men, the  criminal  is  not  a  vagrant.  If  you  want  to  find 
him,  you  must  not  look  for  a  man  wandering  along  the 
highway;  you  must  look  for  him  among  those  relatives 
or  debtors  or  friends,  who  had  an  interest  in  his  death. 

Vagret.     This  is  very  true. 

BuNERAT.  I  call  that  admirably  logical  and  ex- 
tremely lucid. 

MouzoN.  Believe  me,  the  matter  is  quite  simple. 
If  I  were  intrusted  with  the  examination,  I  guarantee 
that  within  three  days  the  criminal  would  be  under 
lock  and  key. 

Vagret.  Well,  my  dear  colleague,  I  have  a  piece  of 
news  for  you.  Monsieur  Delorme,  who  is  very  unwell, 
has  returned  me  his  brief  this  afternoon,  and  it  will 
be  intrusted  to  you.  Henceforth  the  preliminary  ex- 
amination of  the  Irissary  murder  will  be  in  your  hands. 

MouzoN.  I  have  only  to  say  that  I  accept.  My 
duty  is  to  obey.  I  withdraw  nothing  of  what  I  have 
said;  within  three  days  the  murderer  will  be  arrested. 

BuNERAT.     Bravo ! 

Vagret.  I  thank  you  for  that  promise  in  the  name 
of  all  concerned.  I  declare  that  you  relieve  us  of 
a  great  anxiety.  [To  his  wife^  Listen,  my  dear. 
Monsieur  Mouzon  is  undertaking  the  preliminary  ex- 
amination, and  he  promises  us  a  result  before  three 
days  are  up. 

Madame  Vagret.  We  shall  be  grateful,  Monsieur 
Mouzon. 

Madame  Bunerat.     Oh,  thank  you ! 

Vagret.     Bertha  !     Tell  them  to  serve  dinner  —  and 


248  The  Red  Robe  Act  I 

to  send  up  that  old  Irrouleguy  wine!  I  will  drink  to 
your  success,  my  dear  fellow. 

The  Manservant.     Dinner  is  served. 

The  gentlemen  offer  their  arms  to  the  ladies  prepara- 
tory to  going  in  to  dinner. 

CURTAIN. 


ACT    II 

In  the  office  of  Mouzon,  the  examining  magistrate. 
A  door  at  the  hack  and  in  the  wall  to  the  right.  On  the 
left  are  two  desks.  Portfolios,  armchairs,  and  one 
ordinary  chair. 

Scene  I :  —  The  recorder,  then  the  doorkeeper,  then 
Mouzon.  When  the  curtain  rises  the  recorder,  seated  in 
the  magistrate's  armchair,  is  drinking  his  coffee.  The 
doorkeeper  enters. 

Recorder.  Ah !  Here  's  our  friend  the  doorkeeper 
of  the  courthouse  !     Well,  what 's  the  news  ? 

Doorkeeper.     Here  's  your  boss. 

Recorder.     Already ! 

Doorkeeper.  He  got  back  from  Bordeaux  last 
night.     Fagged  out  he  looked. 

Recorder  [loftily]  A  Mauleon  magistrate  is  always 
fatigued  when  he  returns  from  Bordeaux ! 

Doorkeeper.     Why? 

Recorder  [after  a  pause]      I  do  not  know. 

Doorkeeper.  It 's  the  Irissary  murder  that  has 
brought  him  here  so  early. 

Recorder.  Probably.  [While  speaking  he  arranges 
his  cup,  saucer,  sugar  basin,  etc.,  in  a  drawer.  He  then 
goes  to  his  own  place,  the  desk  at  the  hack.  Mouzon 
enters.  The  doorkeeper  pretends  to  have  completed 
some  errand  and  leaves  the  room.  The  recorder  rises, 
with  a  low  how]      Good-morning,  your  worship. 

Mouzon.  Good-morning.  You  have  n't  made  any 
engagements,  have  you,  except  in  the  case  of  the 
Irissary  murder.'' 

249 


250  The  Red  Robe  Act  II 

Recorder.  I  have  cited  the  officer  of  the  gen- 
darmerie, the  accused,  and  the  wife  of  the  accused. 

MouzoN.  I  am  tired,  my  good  fellow.  I  have  a 
nervous   headache !     Any  letters   for  me } 

Recorder.     No,  your  worship. 

MouzoN.  His  Honor  the  State  Attorney  has  n't 
asked  for  me? 

Recorder.  No,  your  worship.  But  all  the  same 
I  have  something  for  you.     [He  hands  him  an  envelope^ 

MouzoN  [opening  the  envelope]  Stamps  for  my 
collection !  I  say,  Benoit,  that 's  good !  Now  let 's 
see.  Let 's  see.  [He  unlocks  the  drawer  of  his  desk 
and  takes  out  a  stamp  album]  Uruguay.  I  have  it ! 
Well,  it  will  do  to  exchange.  And  this  one  too.  Oh ! 
Oh!  I  say,  Benoit!  A  George  Albert,  first  edition! 
But  where  did  you  get  this,  my  dear  fellow? 

Recorder.     A  solicitor's  clerk  found  it  in  a  brief. 

MouzoN.  Splendid !  I  must  stick  that  in  at  once ! 
Pass  me  the  paste,  will  you?  [He  delicately  trims  the 
edges  of  the  stamp  with  a  pair  of  scissors  and  pastes 
it  in  the  album  with  the  greatest  care,  while  still  talking] 
It  is  rare,  extremely  rare !  According  to  the  Philat- 
elist it  will  exchange  for  three  blue  Amadei  or  a 
'67  Khedive,  obliterated.  There!  [Turning  over  the 
leaves  of  his  album]  Really,  you  know,  it  begins  to 
look  something  like.  It 's  beginning  to  fill  up,  eh  ? 
You  know  I  believe  I  shall  soon  be  able  to  get  that 
Hayti  example.  Look !  See  here  !  [In  great  delight] 
There  's  a  whole  page-full !  And  all  splendid  examples. 
[He  closes  the  album  and  sighs]      O  Lord ! 

Recorder.     You  don't  feel  well? 

MouzoN.  It 's  not  that.  I  was  rather  worried  at 
Bordeaux. 

Recorder.     About  your  stamps? 

MouzoN.  No,  no.  [A  sigh  to  himself]  Damn  the 
women !     The   very   thing    I    did  n't   want.      [He   takes 


Act  II  The  Red  Robe  251 

his  album  again]  When  I  've  got  that  Hayti  specimen 
I  shall  need  only  three  more  to  fill  this  page  too.  Yes. 
[He  closes  the  album]  Well,  what's  the  post.''  Ah! 
Here  is  the  information  from  Paris  in  respect  of  the 
woman  Etchepare  and  her  husband's  judicial  record. 
[The  doorkeeper  enters  with  a  visiting-card]  Who  is 
coming  to  disturb  me  now.''  [More  agreeably,  having 
read  the  name]  Ah!  Ah!  [To  the  recorder]  I  shall 
see  him  alone. 

Recorder.     Yes,  your  worship.      [He  goes  out] 
MouzoN    [to   the   doorkeeper]      Show   him   in.      [He 
hides   his   album,  picks   up   a   brief,   and   affects   to   be 
reading  it  with  the   utmost  attention] 

Scene   II:  —  Enter  Mondoubleau. 

MoNDOUBLEAu  [speaking  with  a  strong  provincial 
accent]  I  was  passing  the  Law  Courts,  and  I  thought 
I  'd  look  in  and  say  how  do.  I  am  not  disturbing  you, 
I  hope.'* 

MouzoN  [smiling  and  closing  his  brief]  My  dear 
deputy,  an  examining  magistrate,  as  you  know,  is  al- 
ways busy.  But  it  gives  one  a  rest  —  it  does  one  good 
—  to  see  a  welcome  caller  once  in  a  while.  Sit  down, 
I  beg  you.     Yes,  please  ! 

Mondoubleau.     I  can  stop  only  a  minute. 

MouzoN.     But  that  's  unkind  of  you ! 

Mondoubleau.  Well,  what 's  the  latest  about  the 
Irissary   murder.'' 

Mouzon.  So  far  there  's  nothing  new.  I  've  ques- 
tioned the  accused  —  an  ugly-looking  fellow  and  a  poor 
defence.  He  simply  denied  everything  and  flew  into 
a  temper.  I  had  to  send  him  back  to  the  cells  without 
getting   anything   out   of   him. 

Mondoubleau.  Are  you  perfectly  sure  you  've  got 
the  right  man.'' 


252  The  Red  Robe  Act  II 

MouzoN.  Certain  —  no;  but  I  should  be  greatly 
surprised  if  I  were  mistaken. 

MoNDouBLEAu.  I  saw  Monsieur  Delorme  yesterday. 
He  's  a  little  better. 

MouzoN.  So  I  hear.  He  thinks  the  murderer  was  a 
tramp.  Now  there,  my  dear  sir,  is  one  of  the  pecul- 
iarities to  which  we  examining  magistrates  are  subject. 
We  always  find  it  the  very  devil  to  abandon  the  first 
idea  that  pops  into  our  minds.  Personally  I  do  my 
best  to  avoid  what  is  really  a  professional  failing.  I 
am  just  going  to  examine  Etchepare,  and  I  am  waiting 
for  the  results  of  a  police  inquiry.  If  all  this  gives 
me  no  result,  I  shall  set  the  man  at  liberty  and  look 
elsewhere  for  the  culprit  —  but  I  repeat,  I  firmly  be- 
lieve I  am  on  the  right  scent. 

MoNDOUBLEAu.  Monsieur  Delorme  is  a  magistrate 
of  long  experience  and  a  very  shrewd  one,  and  I  will  not 
deny  that  the  reasons  he  has  given  me  are  — 

MouzoN.  I  know  my  colleague  is  extremely  intelli- 
gent. And,  once  more,  I  don't  say  that  he 's  wrong. 
We  shall  see.  At  present  I  am  only  morally  certain. 
I  shall  be  materially  certain  when  I  know  the  antece- 
dents of  the  accused  and  have  established  an  obvious 
motive  for  his  action.  At  the  moment  of  your  arrival 
I  was  about  to  open  my  mail.  Here  is  a  letter  from  the 
Court  of  Pau;  it  gives  our  man's  judicial  record.  [He 
takes  a  paper-knife  in  order  to  open  the  envelope^ 

MoNDOUBLEAU.     A  curious   paper-knife. 

MouzoN.  That  ?  It 's  the  blade  of  the  knife  that 
brought  the  pretty  Toulouse  woman  to  the  guillotine 
at  Bordeaux.  Pretty  weapon,  eh?  I  had  it  made  into 
a  paper-knife.  [He  opens  the  envelopel  There  — 
there  you  are !  Four  times  sentenced  for  assaulting 
and  wounding.     You  see  — 

MoNDOuBLEAu.     Really,  really  !     Four  times  ! 

MouzoN.     This  is  getting  interesting.     Besides  this 


Act  II  The  Red  Robe  253 

—  I  have  neglected  nothing  —  I  have  learned  that  his 
wife,  Yanetta  Etchepare  — 

MoNDOuBLEAu.  Is  that  the  young  woman  I  saw  in 
the  corridor  just  now? 

MouzoN.  I  have  called  her  as  witness.  I  shall  be 
hearing  her  directly. 

MoNDOuBLEAu.     She  looks  a  very  respectable  woman. 

MouzoN.  Possibly.  But,  as  I  was  about  to  tell  you, 
I  have  learned  that  she  used  to  live  in  Paris  —  before 
her  marriage  —  I  have  written  asking  for  information. 
Here  we  are.  [He  opens  the  envelope  and  smiles^ 
Aha !  Well,  this  young  woman  who  looks  so  respectable 
was  sentenced  to  one  month's  imprisonment  for  receiving 
stolen  goods.  Now  we  will  hear  the  police  lieutenant 
who  is  coming,  very  obligingly,  to  give  me  an  account 
of  the  inquiry  with  which  I  intrusted  him,  and  which 
he  will  put  in  writing  this  evening.      I  shall  soon  see  — • 

MoNDOuBLEAu.  Do  you  suppose  he  will  have  any- 
thing new  for  you? 

MouzoN.  Does  this  interest  you?  I  will  see  him 
in  your  presence.  [He  goes  to  the  door  and  makes  a 
sign.  He  returns  to  his  chair^  Understand,  I  assert 
nothing.  It  is  quite  possible  that  my  colleague's  judg- 
ment has  been  more  correct  than  mine.  [The  officer 
enters^ 

Scene  III:  —  The  same  and  the  officer. 

Officer.     Good-morning,  Monsieur. 

MouzoN.  Good-morning,  lieutenant.  You  can  speak 
before  this  gentleman. 

Officer   [saluting]      Our  deputy  — 

MouzoN,     Well? 

Officer.     Yes  !     He  's  the  man ! 

MouzoN  [after  a  glance  at  Mofidoubleau]  Don't 
let 's  go  too  fast.  On  what  grounds  do  you  make  that 
assertion  ? 


254  The  Red  Robe  Act  II 

Officer.  You  will  see.  In  the  first  place  there 
have  been  four  convictions  already. 

MouzoN.     I  know. 

Officer.  Then  fifteen  years  ago  he  bought,  from 
Daddy  Goyetche,  the  victim,  a  vineyard,  the  payment 
taking  the  form  of  a  life  annuity. 

MouzoN.     Well ! 

Officer.  He  professed  to  have  made  a  very  bad 
bargain,  and  he  used  to  abuse  old  Goyetche  as  a 
swindler. 

MouzoN.     Excellent ! 

Officer.     Five  years  ago  he  sold  this  vineyard. 

MouzoN.  So  that  for  five  years  he  has  been  paying 
an  annuity  to  the  victim,  although  the  vineyard  was 
no  longer  his  property. 

Officer.     Yes,  your  worship. 

MouzoN.     Go  on. 

Officer.  After  his  arrest  people's  tongues  were 
loosened.     His  neighbors  have  been  talking. 

MouzoN.     That 's  always  the  way. 

Officer.  I  have  heard  a  witness,  the  girl  Gracieuse 
Mendione,  to  whom  Etchepare  used  the  words,  "  It  is 
really  too  stupid  to  be  forced  to  pay  money  to  that  old 
swine." 

MouzoN.  Wait  a  moment.  You  say  the  girl 
Gracieuse? 

Officer.     Mendione. 

MouzoN  [writing]  Mendione  — "  It  is  really  too 
stupid  to  be  forced  to  pay  money  to  that  old  swine." 
Good!    Good!    WeU.? 

Officer.     I  have  another  witness,  Piarrech  Artola. 

MouzoN   [writing]      Piarrech  Artola. 

Officer.  Etchepare  told  him,  about  two  months 
ago,  in  speaking  of  old  Goyetche,  "  It 's  more  than  one 
can  stand  —  the  Almighty  's  forgotten  him." 


Act  II  The  Red  Robe  255 

MouzoN  [writing]  "  The  Almighty  has  forgotten 
him."     Excellent.     Is  this  all  you  can  tell  me? 

Officer.     Almost  all. 

MouzoN.  At  what  date  should  Etchepare  have  made 
the  next  annual  payment  to  old  Goyetche.? 

Officer.     A  week  after  Ascension  Day. 

MouzoN.     That  is  a  week  after  the  crime? 

Officer.     Yes,  your  worship. 

MouzoN  [to  Mondoubleau]  Singular  coincidence! 
[To  the  officer]  Was  he  comfortably  off,  this  Etche- 
pare? 

Officer.  He  was  pressed  for  money.  Three  months 
ago  he  borrowed  eight  hundred  francs  from  a  Mauleon 
cattle-dealer. 

MouzoN.     And  what  do  the  neighbors  say? 

Officer.  They  say  Etchepare  was  a  sly  grasping 
fellow,  and  they  are  n't  surprised  to  hear  that  he  's  the 
murderer.  All  the  same,  they  all  speak  very  highly  of 
the  woman  Yanetta  Etchepare.  They  say  she  is  a 
model  mother  and  housekeeper. 

MouzoN.     How  many  children? 

Officer.  Two  —  Georges  and  —  I  can't  remember 
the  name  of  the  other  now. 

MouzoN.     And  the  woman's  moral  character? 

Officer.     Irreproachable. 

MouzoN.     Good. 

Officer.  I  was  forgetting.  One  of  my  men,  one 
of  those  who  effected  the  arrest,  informs  me  that  when 
Etchepare  saw  him  coming  he  said  to  his  wife,  "  They  've 
got  me." 

MouzoN.  "  They  've  got  me."  That  is  rather  im- 
portant. 

Officer.  And  then  he  told  his  wife,  in  Basque, 
"  Don't  for  the  world  let  out  that  I  left  the  house  last 
night!" 

MouzoN.     He  said  this  before  the  gendarme? 


256  The  Red  Robe  Act  II 

Officer.  No,  your  worship  —  the  gendarme  was 
outside  —  close  to  an  open  window.  Etchepare  did  n't 
see  him. 

MouzoN.     You  will  have  him  cited  as  witness. 

Officer.  Yes,  your  worship.  Then  there  's  that 
witness  for  the  defence  too  —  Bridet. 

MouzoN.  Ah,  yes  —  I  have  read  the  deposition  he 
made  in  your  presence.  It 's  of  no  importance.  Still, 
if  he  's  there  I  '11  hear  him.  Thank  you.  Well,  draw 
up  a  report  for  me,  in  full  detail,  and  make  them  give 
you  the  summonses  for  the  witnesses. 

Officer.  Yes,  your  worship.  [He  salutes  and  goes 
out] 

Scene  IV:  —  Mouzon  and  Mondoubleau. 

Mondoubleau.     Monsieur  Delorme  is  a  fool. 

Mouzon  [laughing]  Well,  I  don't  say  so,  my  dear 
deputy. 

Mondoubleau.  It 's  wonderful,  your  faculty  of 
divination. 

Mouzon.     Wonderful  —  no,  no.      I  assure  you  — 

Mondoubleau.  Now  how  did  you  come  to  suspect 
this  Etchepare? 

Mouzon.  Well,  you  know,  it  is  partly  a  matter  of 
temperament.  The  searching  for  a  criminal  is  an  art. 
I  may  say  that  a  good  examining  magistrate  is  guided  less 
by  the  facts  themselves  than  by  a  kind  of  inspiration, 

Mondoubleau,     Wonderful.     I   repeat  it 's   wonder- 
ful.    And  this  witness  for  the  defence.^ 
.    Mouzon.     He  may  be  a  false  witness. 

Mondoubleau.     What  makes  you  think  that? 

Mouzon.  Because  he  accuses  the  gipsies !  More- 
over, he  had  business  dealings  with  Etchepare,  The 
Basque,  you  know,  still  look  on  us  rather  as  '  enemies, 
as  conquerors,  and  they  think  it  no  crime  to  deceive 
us  by  means  of  a  false  oath. 


Act  II  The  Red  Robe  257 

MoNDouBLEAu.  Then  you  were  never  inclined  to  ac- 
cept the  theory  of  your  predecessor? 

MouzoN.  Tramps  —  the  poor  wretches  !  I  know 
what  an  affection  you  have  for  the  poor,  and  I  feel 
with  you  that  one  should  not  confine  oneself  to  sus- 
pecting the  unfortunate  —  people  without  shelter,  with- 
out bread   even. 

MoNDOuBLEAU.     Bravo !     I  am  delighted  to  find  that 
you  are  not  only  an  able  magistrate,  but  also  that  you 
think  with  me  on  political  matters. 
MouzoN.     You  are  very  good. 

MoNDOUBLEAU.     I  hope  that  from  now  on  the  Basque 
newspapers  will  cease  its  attacks  upon  you. 
MouzoN.      I  am  afraid  not. 
MoNDOUBLEAU.     Come,  come ! 

MouzoN.  What  can  you  expect,  my  dear  sir?  The 
paper  is  hostile  to  you,  and  as  I  do  not  scruple  openly 
to  support  your  candidature  they  make  the  magistrate 
pay  for  the  opinions  of  the  citizen. 

MoNDOUBLEAU.  I  fccl  ashamed  —  and  I  thank  you 
with  all  my  heart,  my  dear  fellow.  Go  on  as  you  are 
doing  —  but  be  prudent  —  eh?  The  Keeper  of  the 
Seals  was  saying  to  me  only  a  couple  of  days  ago,  "  I 
look  to  you  to  see  that  there  is  no  trouble  in  your  con- 
stituency. No  trouble  —  above  all  no  scandal  of  any 
kind!  "  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  Eugene  is  the  subject 
of  many  attacks  at  the  present  moment. 

MouzoN.     You  are  on  very  intimate  terms  with  his 
Honor  the  Keeper  of  the  Seals. 

MoNDOUBLEAU  [makes  a  gesture,  then,  simplyl     We 
were  in  the  Commune  together. 
MouzoN.     I  see. 

MoNDOUBLEAU.     Tell  me,  by  the  way,  what  sort  of  a 
man  is  your  State  Attorney?  ^ 

MouzoN.     Monsieur  Vagret? 

MoNDOUBLEAU.       YcS. 


258  The  Red  Robe  Act  II 

MouzoN.  Oh,  well  —  he  's  a  very  painstaking  magis- 
trate, very  exact  — 

MoNDOuBLEAu.  No,  I  mean  as  to  his  political 
opinions. 

MouzoN.  You  must  n't  blame  him  for  being  in  the 
political  camp  of  those  who  are  diametrically  opposed 
to  us.  At  all  events,  don't  run  away  with  the  idea 
that  he  is  a  mischievous  person. 

MoNDOUBLEAU.  Narrow-mindcd,  [He  has  for  some 
little  time  been  gazing  at  Mouzon's  desk^  I  see  you  've 
got  the  Labastide  brief  on  your  table.  There  's  nothing 
in  it  at  all.  I  know  Labastide  well ;  he  's  one  of  my 
ablest  electoral  agents ;  and  I  assure  you  he 's  abso- 
lutely incapable  of  committing  the  actions  of  which  he 
is  accused.  I  told  Monsieur  Vagret  as  much,  but  I 
see  he  is  prosecuting  after  all. 

MouzoN.  I  can  only  assure  you,  my  dear  deputy, 
that  I  will  give  the  Labastide  affair  my  most  particular 
attention. 

MoNDOUBLEAU.  I  have  too  much  respect  for  you, 
my  dear  fellow,  to  ask  more  of  you.  Well,  well,  I 
must  n't  waste  your  time.     So  for  the  present  — 

MouzoN.  Au  revoir.  [The  deputy  goes  out. 
Mouzon  is  alone]  I  don't  think  our  deputy  is  getting 
such  a  bad  idea  of  me.  [Smiling]  The  fact  is  it  was 
really  clever  of  me  to  suspect  Etchepare.  Now  the 
thing  is  to  make  him  confess  the  whole  business,  and  as 
quickly  as  possible  — 

The  doorkeeper  enters,  a  telegram  in  his  hand. 

MouzoN.     A  telegram  for  me.'' 

Doorkeeper.    Yes,  your  honor. 

MouzoN.  Give  it  me.  Right.  [The  doorkeeper 
goes  out.  Mouzon  reads]  "  Diane  is  detained  under 
arrest.  The  report  of  yesterday's  affair  sent  to  the 
Attorney-General.  —  Lucien."  That's  nice  for  me! 
[He  is  silent,  pacing  to  and  fro]      Oh,  the  accursed 


Act  II  The  Red  Robe  259 

women!  [Silence]  Come,  I  must  get  to  work,  [He 
goes  to  the  door  at  the  back  and  calls  his  recorder] 
Benoit ! 


Scene  V:  —  Mouzon,  the  recorder,  and  then  Bridet. 

MouzoN  [seated,  gives  a  brief  to  the  recorder]  Make 
out  an  order  of  non-lieu  in  the  Labastide  case  and  the 
order  for  his  immediate  release.  You  can  do  that  dur- 
ing the  interrogatories.  Now,  let  us  begin !  It  is  two 
o'clock  already  and  we  have  done  nothing.  Make  haste 
—  Let 's  see  —  What  are  you  waiting  for .''  Give  me 
the  list  of  witnesses  —  the  list  of  witnesses.  Don't  you 
understand .''  What 's  the  matter  with  you  to-day .'' 
That 's  right.  Now  bring  in  this  famous  witness  for 
the  defence  and  let  us  get  rid  of  him.  Is  Etchepare 
there  ? 

Recorder.     Yes,  your  honor. 

MouzoN.     His  wife  too? 

Recorder.     Yes,  your  honor. 

Mouzon.  Well,  then !  What 's  the  matter  with  you 
that  you  look  at  me  like  that?     Bring  him  in. 

Recorder.     Which  first?     Etchepare? 

MouzoN.  No  !  —  the  witness  for  the  defence.  The 
wit-ness  for  the  de-fence  —  do  you  understand  ? 

^^C0RiyE.n  [outside,  angrily]  Bridet!  Come,  Bridet, 
are  you  deaf  ?     Come  in!     [Roughly]     Stir  yourself ! 

Bridet  enters. 

Bridet.     Your  worship,  I  am  going  to  tell  you  — 

MouzoN.  Hold  your  tongue.  You  will  speak  when 
you  are  questioned.  Name,  surname,  age,  profession, 
and  place  of  domicile. 

Bridet.  Bridet,  Jean-Pierre,  thirty-eight,  maker  of 
alpargates  at  Faigorry. 

MouzoN  [in  a  single  breath]  You  swear  to  speak  the 
truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth.     Say, 


260  The  Red  Robe  Act  II 

"  I  swear."  You  are  neither  a  blood  relative  nor  a  re- 
lation by  marriage  of  the  accused,  you  are  not  in  his 
service  and  he  is  not  in  yours.  [To  the  recorder^ 
Has  he  said,  "  I  swear  "  ? 

Recorder.     Yes,  your  worship. 

MouzoN  [to  Bridet]  Speak!  [Silence]  Go  on  — 
speak ! 

Bridet.     I  am  waiting  for  you  to  ask  me  questions. 

MouzoN.  Just  now  one  couldn't  keep  you  quiet; 
now  when  I  ask  you  to  speak  you  have  nothing  to  say. 
What  interest  have  you  in  defending  Etchepare? 

Bridet.     What  interest? 

MouzoN.  Yes.  Don't  you  understand  your  own 
language .'' 

Bridet.     Yes,  Monsieur.     Why,  no  interest. 

MouzoN.  No  interest?  Is  that  the  truth?  Eh? 
None?  Come,  I  want  very  much  to  believe  you. 
[Very  sternly]  However,  I  remind  you  that  Article 
361  of  the  Penal  Code  punishes  false  evidence  with  im- 
prisonment. Now  that  you  know  the  risk  you  run  in 
not  telling  the  truth  I  will  listen  to  you. 

Bridet  [confused]  I  was  going  to  say  that  old 
Goyetche  was  murdered  by  gipsies  who  came  from  over 
the  frontier,  down  the  mountain. 

MouzoN.     You  are  sure  of  that? 

Bridet.     I  believe  it 's  so. 

MouzoN.  You  are  not  here  to  say  what  you  believe. 
Tell  me  what  you  saw  or  heard.  That  is  all  that 's 
asked  of  you. 

Bridet.  But  one  's  always  meeting  them,  these 
gipsies.  The  other  day  they  robbed  a  tobacconist's 
shop.  There  were  three  of  them.  Two  of  them  went 
inside.  I  must  tell  you  they  had  looked  the  place 
over  during  the  day  — 

MouzoN.  Did  you  come  here  to  laugh  at  the  law? 
Eh? 


Act  II  The  Red  Robe  261 

Bridet.     I  ?  —  But,  Monsieur  — 

MouzoN.  I  ask  if  you  came  here  to  mock  at  the 
law? 

Bridet.     No,  Monsieur. 

MouzoN.  That 's  as  well,  for  such  a  thing  won't 
answer  —  you  understand?     Do  you  hear? 

Bridet.    Yes,  Monsieur. 

MouzoN.     Is  that  all  you  have  to  say? 

Bridet.     No,  Monsieur. 

MouzoN.  Well,  then,  go  on !  Confound  it !  Don't 
waste  my  time  in  this  way !  Do  you  think  I  've  nothing 
to  do  but  listen  to  your  gossip  ?     Come  now,  tell  me. 

Bridet.  Well,  the  day  after  Ascension  Day  —  that 
is,  on  the  Monday  —  no,  on  the  Friday  — 

MouzoN.    Was  it  Monday  or  Friday? 

Bridet.  Friday  —  it  was  like  a  Monday,  you  see,  be- 
cause it  was  the  day  after  the  holiday.  Well,  the  day 
they  found  old  Goyetche  murdered  I  saw  a  troop  of 
gipsies  leaving  his  house. 

MouzoN.     Then  you  were  quite  close  to  the  house? 

Bridet.     No,  I  was  passing  on  the  road. 

MouzoN.     Did  they  close  the  door  behind  them? 

Bridet.     I  don't  know.  Monsieur. 

MouzoN.  Then  why  do  you  say  you  saw  them  come 
out  of  the  house? 

Bridet.  I  saw  them  come  out  of  the  meadow  in 
front  of  the  house. 

MouzoN.     And  then? 

Bridet.     That 's  all. 

MouzoN  [throwing  himself  back  in  his  chair^  And 
you  've  come  here  to  bother  me  for  this,  eh  ?  Answer. 
For  this? 

Bridet.  But,  your  worship  —  I  beg  your  pardon  — 
I  thought  —  I  beg  your  pardon  — 

MouzoN.  Listen.  How  many  gipsies  were  there? 
Think  well.     Don't  make  a  mistake. 


262  The  Red  Robe  Act  II 

Bridet.     Five. 

MouzoN.     Are  you  certain  of  that? 

Bridet.     Yes,  Monsieur. 

MouzoN.  Yes.  Well,  in  the  presence  of  the  gen- 
darmes you  said  there  were  five  or  six.  So  you  are 
more  certain  of  a  fact  at  the  end  of  a  month  than  you 
were  on  the  day  on  which  you  observed  it.  On  the 
other  hand,  you  no  longer  know  whether  the  fact  oc- 
curred on  a  Monday  or  a  Friday,  nor  whether  the 
gipsies  were  leaving  the  house  or  merely  crossing  the 
fields.  ISternly]  Tell  me,  are  you  acquainted  with 
the  accused.''     Etchepare  —  do  you  know  him? 

Bridet.     Yes,  Monsieur. 

MouzoN.  You  have  business  relations  with  him? 
You  used  to  sell  him  sheep? 

Bridet.     Yes,  Monsieur. 

MouzoN.     That 's  enough  for  me.     Get  out ! 

Bridet.     Yes,  Monsieur. 

MouzoN.  And  think  yourself  lucky  that  I  let  you 
go   like   this. 

Bridet.     Yes,  Monsieur. 

MouzoN.  In  future,  before  asking  to  be  heard  as 
a  witness  for  the  defence  in  a  trial  at  law,  I  recommend 
you  to  think  twice. 

Bridet.  Rest  your  mind  easy.  Monsieur.  I  swear 
they  '11  never  get  me  again ! 

MouzoN.  Sign  your  interrogatory  and  be  off.  If 
there  were  not  so  many  easy-going  blunderers  of  your 
sort,  there  would  be  less  occasion  to  complain  of  the 
law's  delays  and  hesitations  for  which  the  law  itself 
is  not  responsible. 

Bridet.     Yes,  Monsieur. 

MouzoN   [to  the  recorder]      Send  for  Etchepare. 

Recorder   [returning  immediately]      Your  worship. 

MouzoN.     Well? 

Recorder.    The  advocate  —  Maitre  Plagat. 


Act  II  The  Red  Robe  263 

MouzoN.     Is  he  there? 

Recorder.  Yes,  your  honor.  He  would  like  to  see 
you  before  the  interrogatory. 

MouzoN.  Well,  show  him  in,  then !  What  are  you 
waiting  for  ?  Be  off  —  and  come  back  when  I  send 
for  the  accused. 

The  recorder  goes  out  as  Plagat  enters. 

Scene   VI:  —  Mouzon,  Maitre  Plagat. 

MouzoN.     Good-day,  my  dear  fellow  —  how  are  you  ? 

Placat.  Fine.  And  you?  I  caught  sight  of  you 
last  night  at  the  Grand  Theatre;  you  were  with  an 
extremely  charming  woman. 

MouzoN.     Ah,  yes  —  I  —  er  — 

Placat.  I  beg  your  pardon.  Tell  me  now  —  I 
wanted  to  have  a  word  with  you  about  the  Etchepare 
case. 

MouzoN.  If  you  are  free  at  the  present  moment,  we 
are  going  to  hold  the  examination  at  once. 

Placat.     That 's  the  trouble  —  I  have  n't  a  minute. 

MouzoN.  Would  you  like  us  to  postpone  it  until 
to-morrow  ? 

Placat.  No,  no  —  I  have  just  been  speaking  to  the 
accused.  An  uninteresting  story.  He  just  keeps  on 
denying  —  that 's  all.  He  agreed  to  be  interrogated 
without  me.  [Laughing]  I  won't  hide  from  you  that 
I  advised  him  to  persist  in  his  method.  Well,  then, 
au  revoir.  If  he  wants  an  advocate  later  on,  let  me 
know  —  I  '11  send  you  one  of  my  secretaries. 

Mouzon.     Right.     Good-bye   for   the    present,   then. 

He  returns  to  his  desk.  The-  recorder  enters,  then 
Etchepare,  between  two  gendarmes. 


264  The  Red  Robe  Act  II 


Scene   VII:  —  Mouzon,  Etchepare,   the   recorder. 

Recorder.     Step  forward. 

Mouzon  [to  the  recorder}  Recorder,  write.  [Very 
quickly,  stuttering]  In  the  year  nineteen  hundred  and 
ninety-seven,  etc.  Before  me,  Mouzon,  examining 
magistrate,  in  the  presence  of  —  and  so  on  —  the  Sieur 
Etchepare  Jean-Pierre  was  brought  to  our  office,  his 
first  appearance  being  recorded  in  the  report  of  —  and 
so  on.  We  may  mention  that  the  accused,  having  con- 
sented to  interrogation  in  the  absence  of  his  advocate  — 
[To  Etchepare]     You  do  consent,  don't  you.'' 

Etchepare.  I  am  innocent.  I  don't  need  any  ad- 
vocate. 

Mouzon  [resumes  his  stuttering]  We  dispensed 
therewith.  In  consequence  of  which  we  have  immedi- 
ately proceeded  as  below  to  the  interrogation  of  the  said 
Sieur  Etchepare  Jean-Pierre.  [To  Etchepare]  Etche- 
pare, on  the  occasion  of  your  first  appearance  you  re- 
fused to  reply,  which  was  n't  perhaps  very  sensible 
of  you,  but  you  were  within  your  rights.  You  lost 
your  temper  and  I  was  even  obliged  to  remind  you 
of  the  respect  due  to  the  law.  Are  you  going  to  speak 
to-day  ? 

Etchepare    [disturbed]     Yes,  your  worship. 

Mouzon.  Ah !  Aha !  my  fine  fellow,  you  are  not 
so  proud  to-day ! 

Etchepare.  No.  I  've  been  thinking.  I  want  to 
get  out  of  this  as  quickly  as  possible. 

Mouzon.  Well,  well,  for  my  part,  I  ask  nothing 
more  than  to  be  able  to  set  you  at  liberty.  So  far 
we  understand  each  other  excellently.  Let  us  hope 
it  '11  last.  Sit  down.  And  first  of  all  I  advise  you  to 
give  up  trying  to  father  the  crime  onto  a  band  of 
gipsies.     The   witness   Bridet,   who   has   business    rela- 


Act  II  The  Red  Robe  265 

tions  with  you,  has  endeavored,  no  doubt  at  your  in- 
stigation, to  induce  us  to  accept  this  fable.  I  warn 
you  he  has  not  succeeded. 

Etchepare.  I  don't  know  what  Bridet  may  have 
told  you. 

MouzoN.  Oh!  You  deny  it?  So  much  the  better! 
Come,  you  are  cleverer  than  I  thought !  Was  it  you 
who  murdered  Goyetche? 

Etchepare,     No,  Monsieur. 

MouzoN.     You  had  an  interest  in  his  death.'* 

Etchepare.     No,  Monsieur. 

MouzoN.  Oh,  really!  I  thought  you  had  to  pay 
him  a  life  annuity. 

Etchepare  [after  a  moment's  hesitation]  Yes, 
Monsieur. 

MouzoN,  Then  you  had  an  interest  in  his  death? 
[Silence]  Eh!  You  don't  answer?  Well,  let  us  con- 
tinue. You  said  to  a  witness,  the  young  woman  — 
the  young  woman  Gracieuse  Mendione  —  "  It  is  really 
too  stupid  to  be  forced  to  pay  money  to  that  old  swine." 

Etchepare   [without  conviction]     That 's  not  true. 

MouzoN.  It 's  not  true !  So  the  witness  is  a  liar, 
eh? 

Etchepare.     I  don't  know. 

MouzoN.  You  don't  know.  [A  pause]  You 
thought  that  Goyetche  had  lived  too  long? 

Etchepare.     No,  Monsieur. 

MouzoN.  No,  Monsieur.  Then  why  did  you  say  to 
another  witness,  Piarrech  Artola,  why  did  you  say, 
in  speaking  of  your  creditor,  "  It 's  too  much,  the 
Almighty  has  forgotten  him  "  ? 

Etchepare.      I  did  n't  say  that. 

MouzoN.  You  did  n't  say  that.  So  this  witness  is  a 
liar  too!  Answer  me.  Is  he  a  liar?  [Silence]  You 
don't  answer.  It 's  just  as  well.  Come  now,  Etche- 
pare, why  do  you  persist  in  these  denials  —  eh?     Isn't 


266  The  Red  Robe  Act  II 

it  all  plain  enough?  You  are  avaricious,  interested, 
greedy  for  gain  — 

Etchepare.     It 's  so  hard  to  make  a  living. 

MouzoN.  You  are  a  man  of  violent  temper  —  from 
time  to  time  you  get  drunk,  and  then  you  become  dan- 
gerous. You  have  been  four  times  convicted  for  as- 
sault and  wounding  —  you  are  over-ready  with  your 
knife.  Is  that  the  truth  or  isn't  it.''  You  were  tired 
of  paying  —  for  nothing  —  a  biggish  annual  sum  to  this 
old  man.  The  time  for  payment  was  approaching;  you 
were  pressed  for  money;  you  felt  that  Goyetche  had 
lived  too  long,  and  you  killed  him.  It 's  so  obvious  — 
eh .''     Is  n't  it  true  .'^ 

Etchepare  [gradually  recovering  himself]  I  did  not 
murder  him. 

MouzoN.  We  won't  juggle  with  words.  Did  you 
pay  anyone  else  to  kill  him.? 

Etchepare.  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  death. 
You  yourself  say  I  was  pressed  for  money.  So  how 
could  I  have  paid  anyone  to  kill  him? 

MouzoN.     Then  you  did  it  yourself. 

Etchepare.     That 's  a  lie. 

MouzoN.  Listen,  Etchepare  —  you  will  confess 
sooner  or  later.  Already  you  are  weakening  in  your 
defence. 

Etchepare.  If  I  was  to  shout,  you  'd  say  I  was 
play-acting. 

MouzoN.  I  tell  you  sooner  or  later  you  will  change 
your  tune.  Already  you  admit  facts  which  constitute 
a  serious  charge  against  you. 

Etchepare.  That's  true;  I  said  it  without  thinking 
of  the  consequences. 

MouzoN.  Ah,  but  you  ought  to  think  of  the  conse- 
quences; for  they  may  be  peculiarly  serious  for  you. 

Etchepare.     I  'm  not  afraid  of  death. 

MouzoN.     The  death  of  others  — 


Act  II  The  Red  Robe  267 

Etchepare.     Nor  my  own. 

MouzoN.  So  much  the  better.  But  you  are  a 
Basque;  you  are  a  Catholic.  After  death  there  is 
hell. 

Etchepare.  I  'm  not  afraid  of  hell;  I  've  done 
nothing  wrong. 

MouzoN.  There  is  the  dishonor  that  will  fall  on 
your  children.  You  love  your  children,  do  you  not.'' 
Eh.''  They  will  ask  after  you  —  they  love  you  —  be- 
cause they  don't  know  —  yet  — 

Etchepare  [^suddenly  weeping^  My  poor  little 
children!     My  poor  little  children! 

MouzoN.  Come,  then !  All  good  feeling  is  n't  ex- 
tinct in  you.  Believe  me,  Etchepare,  the  jury  will  be 
touched  by  your  confession,  by  your  repentance  —  you 
•will  escape  the  supreme  penalty.  You  are  still  young 
—  you  have  long  years  before  you  in  which  to  expiate 
your  crime.  You  may  earn  your  pardon  and  perhaps 
you  may  once  again  see  those  children,  who  will  have 
forgiven  you.  Believe  me  —  believe  me  —  in  your  own 
interests  even,  confess !  [Mouzon  has  approached 
Etchepare  during  the  foregoing;  he  places  his  hands 
on  the  latter's  shoulders ;  he  continues,  with  great  gentle- 
ness^ Come,  is  n't  it  true.^  If  you  can't  speak,  you  've 
only  to  nod  your  head.  Eh.^  It's  true?  Come,  since 
I  know  it 's  true.  Eh }  I  can't  hear  what  you  say. 
It  was  you,  was  n't  it?     It  was  you ! 

Etchepare  [^still  •weeping']  It  was  not  me,  sir !  I 
swear  it  was  not  me!     I  swear  it! 

MouzoN  [in  a  hard  voice,  going  hack  to  his  desk] 
Oh,  you  needn't  swear.  You  have  only  to  tell  me  the 
truth. 

Etchepare.  I  am  telling  the  truth  —  I  am  —  I  can't 
say  I  did  it  when  I  did  n't ! 

MouzoN.  Come,  come !  We  shall  get  nothing  out 
of  you  to-day.      [To  the  recorder]      Read  him  his  in- 


268  The  Red  Robe  Act  II 

terrogatory  and  let  him  be  taken  back  to  his  cell.  One 
minute  —  Etchepare ! 

Etchepare.     Monsieur? 

MouzoN.  There  is  one  way  to  prove  your  innocence, 
since  you  profess  to  be  innocent.  Prove,  in  one  way 
or  another,  that  you  were  elsewhere  than  at  Irissary 
on  the  night  of  the  crime,  and  I  will  set  you  at  liberty. 
Where  were  you? 

Etchepare.     Where  was  I? 

MouzoN.  I  ask  you  where  you  were  on  the  night  of 
Ascension  Day.     Were  you  at  home? 

Etchepare.     Yes. 

MouzoN.     Is  that  really  the  truth? 

Etchepare.     Yes. 

MouzoN  [rising,  rather  theatrically,  pointing  at 
Etchepare^  Now,  Etchepare,  that  condemns  you.  I 
know  that  you  went  out  that  night.  When  you  were 
arrested  you  said  to  your  wife,  "  Don't  for  the  world 
admit  that  I  went  out  last  night."  Come,  I  must  tell 
you  everything.  Someone  saw  you  —  a  servant.  She 
told  the  gendarmes  that  as  she  was  saying  good-night 
to  a  young  man  from  Iholdy,  with  whom  she  had  been 
dancing,  at  ten  o'clock  at  night,  she  saw  you  a  few  hun- 
dred yards  from  your  house.  What  have  you  to  say 
to  that? 

Etchepare.     It  is  true  —  I  did  go  out. 

MouzoN  [triumphantly]  Ah!  Now,  my  good  man, 
we  've  had  some  trouble  in  getting  you  to  say  some- 
thing. But  I  can  read  it  in  your  face  when  you  are 
lying  —  I  can  read  it  in  your  face  in  letters  as  big  as 
that.  The  proof  is  that  there  was  no  witness  who  saw 
you  go  out  —  neither  your  servant  nor  anyone  else ;  and 
yet  I  would  have  sworn  to  it  with  my  head  under  the 
knife.  Come,  we  have  made  a  little  progress  now. 
[To  the  recorder]  Have  you  put  down  carefully  his 
first  admission?     Good.      [To  Etchepare]      Now  think 


Act  II  The  Red  Robe  269 

for  a  moment.  We  will  continue  our  little  conversation. 
[He  goes  towards  the  fireplace,  rubbing  his  hands,  pours 
himself  a  glass  of  spirits,  srvallows  it,  gives  a  sigh  of 
gratification,  and  returns  to  his  chair^ 

First  Gendarme  [to  his  comrade'\  A  cunning  one, 
he  is ! 

Second  Gendarme.     You  're  right ! 

MouzoN.  Let  us  continue.  Come,  now  that  you  've 
got  so  far,  confess  the  whole  thing !  Here  are  these 
good  gendarmes  who  want  to  go  to  their  grub.  [The 
gendarmes,  the  recorder,  and  Mouzon  laugh^  You  con- 
fess ?  No  ?  Then  tell  me,  why  did  you  insist  on  saying 
that  you  remained  at  home  that  night? 

Etchepare.  Because  I  'd  told  the  gendarmes  so  and 
I  did  n't  want  to  make  myself  out  a  liar. 

MouzoN.     And  why  did  you  tell  the  gendarmes  that? 

Etchepare.  Because  I  thought  they  'd  arrest  me  on 
account  of  the  smuggling. 

MouzoN.  Good.  Then  you  did  n't  go  to  Irissary 
that  night  ? 

Etchepare.     No. 

MouzoN.     Where  did  you  go? 

Etchepare.  Up  the  mountain,  to  look  for  a  horse 
that  had  got  away  the  night  before,  one  of  a  lot  we 
were  taking  to  Spain. 

MouzoN.  Good.  Excellent.  That  is  n't  badly  thought 
out  —  that  can  be  maintained.  You  went  to  look  for 
a  horse  lost  on  the  mountain,  a  horse  which  escaped 
from  a  lot  you  were  smuggling  over  the  frontier  on  the 
previous  night.  Excellent.  If  that  is  true,  there  is 
nothing  for  it  but  to  set  you  at  liberty  before  we  are 
much  older.  Now  to  prove  that  you  've  simply  to  tell 
me  to  whom  you  sold  the  horse;  we  shall  send  for  the 
purchaser,  and  if  he  confirms  your  statement,  I  will  sign 
your  discharge.     To  whom  did  you  sell  the  horse? 

Etchepare.     I  did  n't  sell  it. 


270  The  Red  Robe  Act  II 

MouzoN.  You  gave  it  away?  You  did  something 
with  it ! 

Etchepare.     No  —  I  did  n't  find  it  again. 

MouzoN.  You  did  n't  find  it  again !  The  devil ! 
That 's  not  so  good.  Come !  Let 's  think  of  something 
else.     You  didn't  go  up  the  mountain  all  alone.? 

Etchepare.     Yes^  all  alone. 

MouzoN.  Bad  luck!  Another  time,  you  see,  you 
ought  to  take  a  companion.     Were  you  out  long  ? 

Etchepare.  All  night.  I  got  in  at  five  in  the  morn- 
ing. 

MouzoN.     A  long  time. 

Etchepare.  We  are  n't  well  off,  and  a  horse  is 
worth  a  lot  of  money. 

MouzoN.  Yes.  But  you  didn't  spend  the  whole 
night  on  the  mountain  without  meeting  someone  — 
shepherds  or  customs  officers? 

Etchepare.     It  was  raining  in  torrents. 

MouzoN.     Then  you  met  no  one? 

Etchepare.     No  one. 

MouzoN.  I  thought  as  much.  [In  a  tone  of  dis- 
appointed reproach,  with  apparent  pity]  Tell  me, 
Etchepare,  do  you  take  the  jurymen  for  idiots?  [Si- 
lence] So  that 's  all  you  've  been  able  to  think  of?  I 
said  you  were  intelligent  just  now.  I  take  that  back. 
But  think  what  you  've  told  me  —  a  rigmarole  like  that. 
Why,  a  child  of  eight  would  have  done  better.  It 's 
ridiculous  I  tell  you  —  ridiculous.  The  jurymen  will 
simply  shrug  their  shoulders  when  they  hear  it.  A 
whole  night  out  of  doors,  in  the  pouring  rain,  to  look 
for  a  horse  you  don't  find  —  and  without  meeting  a  liv- 
ing soul  —  no  shepherds,  no  customs  officers  —  and  you 
go  home  at  five  in  the  morning  —  although  at  this  time 
of  the  year  it 's  daylight  by  then  —  yes,  and  before  then 
—  but  no,  no  one  saw  you  and  you  saw  no  one.  So 
everybody  was  stricken  with  blindness,  eh?     A  miracle 


Act  II  The  Red  Robe  271 

happened,  and  everyone  was  blind  that  night.  You 
don't  ask  me  to  believe  that?  No?  Why  not?  It's 
quite  as  probable  as  what  you  do  tell  me.  So  every- 
body was  n't  blind?  [The  recorder  bursts  into  a  laugh; 
the  gendarmes  imitate  him]  You  see  what  it 's  worth, 
your  scheme  of  defence !  You  make  the  gaolers  and  my 
recorder  laugh.  Don't  you  agree  with  me  that  your  new 
method  of  defence  is  ridiculous? 

Etchepare  [abashed,  under  his  breath]  I  don't 
know. 

MouzoN.  Well,  if  you  don't  know,  we  do !  Come 
now !  I  have  no  advice  to  give  you.  You  repeat  that 
at  the  trial  and  see  what  effect  you  produce.  But  why 
not  confess?  Why  not  confess?  I  really  don't  under- 
stand your  obstinacy.  I  repeat,  I  really  do  not  under- 
stand it. 

Etchepare.  Well,  if  I  did  n't  do  it,  am  I  to  say  all 
the  same  that  I  did? 

MouzoN.  So  you  persist  in  your  story  of  the  phan- 
tom horse?     You  persist  in  it,  do  you? 

Etchepare.  How  do  I  know?  How  should  I  know 
what  I  ought  to  say  ?  I  should  do  better  not  to  say  any- 
thing at  all  —  everything  I  say  is  turned  against  me ! 

MouzoN.  Because  the  stories  you  invent  are  alto- 
gether too  improbable  —  because  you  think  me  more  of 
a  fool  than  I  am  in  thinking  that  I  am  going  to  credit 
such  absurd  inventions.  I  preferred  your  first  method ; 
at  least  you  had  two  witnesses  to  speak  for  you  —  two 
witnesses  who  were  not  worth  very  much,  it 's  true,  but 
witnesses  all  the  same.  You  've  made  a  change ;  well, 
you  are  within  your  rights.  Let  us  stick  to  the  lost 
horse. 

Etchepare.     Well,  then?     [A  long  pause] 

MouzoN.     Come!     Out  with  it! 

Etchepare  [without  emphasis,  hesitation,  gazing  at 
the  recorder  as  though  to  read  in  his  eyes  whether  he  was 


272  The  Red  Robe  Act  II 

replying  as  he  should']  Well,  I  'm  going  to  tell  you, 
Monsieur.  You  are  right  —  it  is  n't  true  —  I  did  n't  go 
up  into  the  mountain.  What  I  said  first  of  all  was  the 
truth  —  I  did  n't  go  out  at  all.  Just  now  I  was  all 
muddled.  At  first  I  denied  everything,  even  what  was 
true  —  I  was  so  afraid  of  you.  Then,  when  you  told 
me  —  I  don't  remember  what  it  was  —  my  head  's  all 
going  like  —  I  don't  know  —  I  don't  remember  —  but 
all  the  same  I  know  I  am  innocent.  Well,  just  now,  I 
almost  wished  I  could  admit  I  was  guilty  if  only  you  'd 
leave  me  in  peace.  What  was  I  saying?  I  don't  re- 
member. Ah,  yes  —  when  you  told  me  —  whatever  it 
was,  I  've  forgotten  —  it  seemed  to  me  I  'd  better  say 
I  'd  gone  out  —  and  I  told  a  lie.  But  [sincerely']  what 
I  swear  to  you  is  that  I  am  not  the  guilty  man.  I  swear 
it,  I  swear  it ! 

MouzoN.  I  repeat,  I  ask  nothing  better  than  to  be 
able  to  believe  it.  So  now  it 's  understood,  is  it,  that 
you  were  at  home  ? 

Etchepare.     Yes,  Monsieur. 

MouzoN.  We  shall  hear  your  wife  directly.  You 
have  no  other  witnesses  to  call? 

Etchepare.     No,  Monsieur. 

MouzoN.     Good.     Take  the  accused  away  —  but  re- 
main in  the  Court.     I  shall  probably  need  him  directly 
for  a  confrontation.     His  interrogatory  is  n't  finished. 
The  gendarmes  lead  Etchepare  away. 

Scene   VIII:  —  Mouzon  and  the  recorder. 

MouzoN  [fo  the  recorder]  What  a  rogue,  eh?  One 
might  have  taken  him  in  the  act,  knife  in  hand,  and 
he  'd  say  it  was  n't  true  !  A  crafty  fellow  too  —  he  de- 
fends himself  well. 

Recorder.  I  really  thought,  at  one  time,  that  your 
worship  had  got  him. 


Act  II  The  Red  Robe  273 

MouzoN.     When  I  was  speaking  of  his  children? 

Recorder.  Yes^  that  brought  tears  to  one's  eyes.  It 
made  one  feel  one  wanted  to  confess  even  though  one 
had  n't  done  anything  ! 

MouzoN.  Did  n't  it?  Ah,  if  I  had  n't  got  this  head- 
ache !      [A  pause]     I  did  a  stupid  thing  just  now. 

Recorder.     Oh,  your  worship ! 

MouzoN.  I  did.  I  was  wrong  to  show  him  how  im- 
probable that  new  story  of  his  was.  It  is  so  grotesque 
that  it  would  have  betrayed  him  —  while,  if  he  goes  on 
asserting  that  he  never  left  the  house,  if  the  servant 
insists  he  did  n't,  and  if  the  wife  says  the  same  thing, 
that 's  something  that  may  create  a  doubt  in  the  mind 
of  the  jury.  He  saw  that  perfectly,  the  rascal !  He  felt 
that  of  the  two  methods  the  first  was  the  better.  That 's 
one  against  me,  my  good  Benoit.  [To  himself]  That 
must  be  set  right.  Let  me  think.  Etchepare  is  the 
murderer,  there  's  no  doubt  about  that.  I  am  as  cer- 
tain of  that  as  if  I  'd  been  present.  So  he  was  n't  at 
home  on  the  night  of  the  crime  and  his  wife  knows  it. 
After  the  way  he  hesitated  just  now  —  if  I  can  get  the 
wife  to  confess  that  he  was  absent  from  home  till  the 
morning,  we  get  back  to  the  ridiculous  story  of  the  lost 
horse,  and  I  catch  him  twice  in  a  flagrant  lie,  and  I  've 
got  him.  Come,  we  must  give  the  good  woman  a  bit  of  a 
roasting  and  get  the  truth  out  of  her.  It  '11  be  devilish 
queer  if  I  don't  succeed.  [To  the  recorder]  What  did 
I  do  with  the  police  record  of  the  woman  Etchepare  that 
was  sent  from  Paris  ? 

Recorder.     It 's  in  the  brief. 

MouzoN.     Yes  —  here   it  is  —  the  extract  from  her 
judicial  record.     Report  number  two,  a  month  of  impris- 
onment, for  receiving  —  could  n't  be  better.    Send  her  in. 
The  recorder  goes  to  the  door  and  calls. 

Recorder.     Yanetta  Etchepare ! 
Enter  Yanetta. 


274  The  Red  Robe  Act  II 

Scene  IX :  —  Mouzon,  recorder,  Yanetta. 

MouzoN.  Step  forward.  Now,  Madame,  I  shall  not 
administer  the  oath  to  you,  since  you  are  the  wife  of 
the  accused.  But  none  the  less  I  beg  you  most  urgently 
to  tell  the  truth.  I  warn  you  that  an  untruth  on  your 
part  might  compel  me  to  accuse  you  of  complicity  with 
your  husband  in  the  crime  of  which  he  is  accused  and 
force  me  to  have  you  arrested  at  once. 

Yanetta,  I  'm  not  afraid.  I  can't  be  my  husband's 
accomplice  because  my  husband  is  n't  guilty. 

MouzoN.  That  is  not  my  opinion.  I  will  say 
further:  you  know  a  great  deal  more  about  this  matter 
than  you  care  to  tell. 

Yanetta.     I }     That 's  infamous. 

MouzoN.  Come,  come,  no  shouting!  I  don't  say 
you  took  a  direct  part  in  the  murder.  I  say  it  is  highly 
probable  that  you  knew  of  the  murder,  perhaps  advised 
it,  and  that  you  have  profited  by  it.  That  would  be 
enough  to  place  you  in  the  dock  beside  your  husband 
at  the  assizes.  My  treatment  of  you  will  depend  on  the 
sincerity  of  your  answers  to  my  questions.  As  you 
do  or  do  not  tell  me  the  truth  I  shall  either  set  you 
at  liberty  or  have  you  arrested.  Now  you  can't  say  that 
I  have  n't  warned  you !  And  now,  if  you  please,  in- 
form me  whether  you  persist  in  your  first  statement, 
in  which  you  affirm  that  Etchepare  stopped  at  home  on 
the  night  of  Ascension  Day. 

Yanetta.     I  do. 

MouzoN.     Well,  it  is  untrue. 

Yanetta  [excited]  The  night  on  which  Daddy 
Goyetche  was  murdered  my  husband  never  left  the 
house. 

MouzoN.     I  tell  you  that  is  not  the  truth. 

Yanetta  [as  before]  The  night  Daddy  Goyetche 
was  murdered  my  husband  never  left  the  house. 


Act  II  The  Red  Robe  275 

MouzoN.  You  seem  to  have  got  stuck.  You  go  on 
repeating  the  same  thing. 

Yanetta.     Yes,  I  go  on  repeating  the  same  thing. 

MouzoN.  Well,  now  let  us  examine  into  the  value 
of  your  evidence.  Since  your  marriage  —  for  the  last 
ten  years  —  your  conduct  has  left  nothing  to  be  desired. 
You  are  thrifty,  faithful,  industrious,  honest  — 

Yanetta.     Well? 

MouzoN.  Wait  a  moment.  You  have  two  children, 
whom  you  adore.  You  are  an  excellent  mother.  One 
hears  of  your  almost  heroic  behavior  at  the  time  your 
eldest  child  was  ill  —  Georges,  I  think. 

Yanetta.  Yes,  it  was  Georges.  But  what  has  that 
to  do  with  the  charge  against  my  husband.'' 

MouzoN.      Have   patience.     You  will  see  presently. 

Yanetta.     Very  well. 

MouzoN.  It  is  all  the  more  to  your  credit  that  you 
are  what  you  are,  for  your  husband  does  not  give  us  an 
example  of  the  same  virtues.  He  occasionally  gets 
drunk. 

Yanetta.     No,  he  does  n't. 

MouzoN.  Come  —  everyone  knows  that.  He  is 
violent. 

Yanetta.     He  's  not  violent. 

MouzoN.  So  violent  that  he  has  been  convicted  four 
times  for  assault  and  battery. 

Yanetta.  That's  possible;  at  holiday  times,  in  the 
evening,  men  get  quarrelling.  But  that  was  a  long 
time  ago.  Now  he  behaves  better,  and  I  'm  very  happy 
with  him. 

MouzoN.     That  surprises  me. 

Yanetta.  Anyhow,  does  that  prove  he  murdered 
old  Goyetche.'' 

MouzoN.     Your  husband  is  very  grasping. 

Yanetta.  Poor  people  are  forced  to  be  very  grasp- 
ing or  else  to  die  of  starvation. 


276  The  Red  Robe  Act  II 

MouzoN.     You  defend  him  well. 

Yanetta.  Did  you  suppose  I  was  going  to  accuse 
him? 

MouzoN.     Have  you  ever  been  convicted? 

Yanetta   [anxious]     Me? 

MouzoN.     Yes,  you. 

Yanetta  [weakly]     No,  I  've  never  been  convicted. 

MouzoN.  That  is  curious,  because  there  was  a  girl 
of  your  name  in  Paris  who  was  sentenced  to  a  month's 
imprisonment  for  receiving  stolen  property. 

Yanetta  [weakly]      For  receiving  stolen  property  — 

MouzoN.  You  are  not  quite  so  bold  now  —  you  are 
disturbed. 

Yanetta  [as  before]     No  — 

MouzoN.  You  are  pale  —  you  are  trembling  —  you 
are  feeling  faint.  Give  her  a  chair,  Benoit.  [The 
recorder  obeys]      Pull  yourself  together! 

Yanetta.     My  God,  you  know  that? 

MouzoN.  Here  is  the  report  which  has  been  sent 
me.  "  The  woman  Yanetta  X —  was  brought  to  Paris 
at  the  age  of  sixteen  as  companion  or  lady's  maid  by 
Monsieur  and  Madame  So-and-so,  having  been  employed 
by  them  in  that  capacity  at  Saint-Jean-de-Luz."  Is 
that  correct? 

Yanetta.     Yes. 

MouzoN.  Here  is  some  more.  "  Illicit  relations 
were  before  long  formed  between  the  girl  Yanetta  and 
the  son  of  the  family,  who  was  twenty-three  years  of 
age.  Two  years  later  the  lovers  fled,  taking  with  them 
eight  thousand  francs  which  the  yoimg  man  had  stolen 
from  his  father.  On  the  information  of  the  latter 
the  girl  Yanetta  was  arrested  and  condemned  to  one 
month's  imprisonment  for  receiving  stolen  property. 
After  serving  her  sentence  she  disappeared.  It  is  be- 
lieved that  she  returned  to  her  own  district."  Are  you 
the  person  mentioned  here  ? 


Act  II  The  Red  Robe  277 

Yanetta.  Yes.  My  God^,  I  thought  that  was  all 
so  long  ago  —  so  completely  forgotten.  It  is  all  true, 
Monsieur,  but  for  ten  years  now  I  've  given  every  min- 
ute of  my  life  to  making  up  for  it,  trying  to  redeem 
myself.  Just  now  I  answered  you  insolently;  I  beg 
your  pardon.  You  have  not  only  my  life  in  your 
hands  now,  but  my  husband's,  and  the  honor  of  my 
children, 

MouzoN.     Does  your  husband  know  of  this? 

Yanetta.  No,  Monsieur.  Oh,  you  are  n't  going  to 
tell  him !  I  beg  you  on  my  knees !  It  would  be 
wicked,  I  tell  you,  wicked  !  Listen,  Monsieur  —  listen. 
I  came  back  to  the  country;  I  hid  myself;  I  would 
rather  have  died ;  I  did  n't  want  to  stay  in  Paris  —  you 
understand  why  —  and  then  in  a  little  while  I  lost 
mother.  Etchepare  was  in  love  with  me,  and  he  bothered 
me  to  marry  him.  I  refused  —  I  had  the  courage  to  go 
on  refusing  for  three  years.  Then  —  I  was  so  lonely, 
so  miserable,  and  he  was  so  unhappy,  that  in  the  end  I 
gave  way.  I  ought  to  have  told  him  everything.  I 
wanted  to,  but  I  could  n't.  It  would  have  hurt  him  too 
much.  For  he  's  a  good  man.  Monsieur,  I  swear  he  is. 
[Mouzon  makes  a  gesture^  Yes,  I  know,  sometimes 
when  he  's  been  drinking,  he  's  violent.  I  was  going 
to  tell  you  about  that.  I  don't  want  to  tell  you  any  more 
untruths.  But  it 's  very  seldom  he 's  violent  jiow. 
[Weeping]  Oh,  don't  let  him  know.  Monsieur,  don't 
let  him  know.  He  'd  go  away  —  he  'd  leave  me  —  he  'd 
take  my  children  from  me.  [She  gives  a  despairing 
cry]  Ah,  he'd  take  my  children  from  me!  I  don't 
know  what  to  say  to  you  —  but  it  is  n't  possible  —  you 
can't  tell  him  —  now  you  know  all  tlie  harm  it  would  do. 
You  won't.?  Of  course  I  was  guilty  —  but  I  didn't 
understand  —  I  did  n't  know.  I  was  n't  seventeen,  sir, 
when  I  went  to  Paris.  My  master  and  mistress  had  a 
son ;   he    forced   me   almost  —  and    I   loved   him  —  and 


278 


The  Red  Robe 


Act  II 


then  he  wanted  to  take  me  away  because  his  parents 
wanted  to  send  him  away  by  himself.  I  did  what  he 
asked  me.  That  money  —  I  did  n't  know  he  had  stolen 
it  —  I   swear   I   did  n't  know  — 

MouzoN.     That 's  all  right ;  control  yourself. 
Yes,  Monsieur. 
We  '11    put    that    on    one    side    for    the 


Yanetta. 
MouzoN. 
moment. 
Yanetta. 
MouzoN. 
Yanetta. 


Yes,  Monsieur. 
Now  your  husband  — 
Yes,  Monsieur. 

MouzoN  [with  great  sincerity]  You  will  have  need 
of  all  your  courage,  my  poor  woman.  Your  husband  is 
guilty. 

Yanetta.     It 's    impossible !     It 's   impossible ! 

MouzoN  [with  great  sincerity]  He  has  not  confessed 
it,  but  he  is  on  the  point  of  doing  so,  I  myself  know 
what  happened  that  night  after  he  left  your  house  — 
witnesses  have  told  me. 

Yanetta.  No!  No!  My  God,  my  God!  Wit- 
nesses ?     What  witnesses  ?     It  is  n't  true ! 

MouzoN.  Well,  then,  don't  be  so  obstinate!  In 
your  own  interest,  don't  be  so  stubborn!  Shall  I  tell 
you  what  will  be  the  end  of  it.^  You  will  ruin  your 
husband!  If  you  insist  on  contradicting  the  evidence, 
that  he  passed  the  night  away  from  the  house,  you  '11 
ruin  him,  I  tell  you.  On  the  other  hand,  if  you  will 
only  tell  me  the  truth,  then  if  he  is  not  the  murderer, 
he  will  tell  us  what  he  did  do  and  who  his  companions 
were. 

Yanetta.     He  had  n't  any. 

MouzoN.     Then  he  went  out  alone? 

Yanetta.     Yes. 

MouzoN.     At  ten  o'clock.^ 

Yanetta.     At  ten. 

MouzoN.     He  returned  alone  at  five  in  the  morning? 


Act  II  The  Red  Robe  279 

Yanetta.     Yes,  all  alone. 

MouzoN.  But  perhaps  you  are  thinking  of  some 
other  night.  It  was  really  the  night  of  Ascension  Day 
when  he  went  out  alone  .^ 

Yanetta.     Yes. 

MouzoN.     Benoit,  have  you  got  that  written  down? 

Recorder.     Yes,  your  worship. 

MouzoN.  Madame,  I  know  how  painful  this  must 
be  to  you,  but  I  beg  you  to  listen  to  me  with  the  great- 
est attention.  Your  husband  was  pressed  for  money, 
was  he  not? 

Yanetta.     No. 

MouzoN.     Yes. 

Yanetta.     I  tell  you  no. 

MouzoN.  Here  is  the  proof.  Three  months  ago  he 
borrowed  eight  hundred  francs  from  a  cattle-dealer  of 
Mauleon. 

Yanetta.     He  never  told  me  about  it. 

MouzoN.  Moreover,  he  owed  a  considerable  sum  to 
Goyetche. 

Yanetta.     I  've  never  heard  of  that  either. 

MouzoN.  Here  is  an  acknowledgment  written  by 
your  husband.      It  is  in  his  handwriting? 

Yanetta.     Yes,  but  I  did  n't  know  — 

MouzoN.  You  did  n't  know  of  the  existence  of  this 
debt?  That  tends  to  confirm  what  I  know  already  — 
your  husband  went  to  Irissary. 

Yanetta.     No,  sir;  he  tells  me  everything  he  does. 

MouzoN.  But  you  see  very  well  that  he  does  n't, 
since  you  did  n't  know  of  the  existence  of  this  debt. 
He  went  to  Irissary.     Don't  you  believe  me? 

Yanetta.  Yes,  Monsieur,  but  he  did  n't  kill  a  man 
for  money ;  it 's  a  lie,  a  lie,  a  lie ! 

MouzoN.  It's  a  lie!  Now  how  am  I  to  know  that? 
Your  husband  begins  by  denying  everything,  blindly, 
and  then  he  takes  up  two  methods  of  defence  in  sue- 


280  The  Red  Robe  Act  II 

cession.     You  yourself  begin  by  a  piece  of  false  evi- 
dence.    All  this,  I  tell  you  again,  will  do  for  the  man. 

Yanetta.  I  don't  know  about  that,  but  what  I  do 
tell  you  again  is  that  he  did  n't  kill  a  man  for  money. 

MouzoN.  Then  what  did  he  kill  him  for?  Perhaps 
after  all  he  is  n't  as  guilty  as  I  supposed  just  now. 
Perhaps  he  acted  without  premeditation.  This  is  what 
might  have  happened.  Etchepare,  a  little  the  worse 
for  drink,  goes  to  Goyetche  in  order  to  ask  him  once 
more  to  wait  for  the  payment  of  this  debt.  There  is  a 
dispute  between  the  two  men;  old  Goyetche  was  still 
a  strong  man;  there  may  have  been  provocation  on  his 
part,  and  there  may  have  been  a  struggle,  with  the 
tragic  result  you  know  of.  In  that  case  your  husband's 
position  is  entirely  different  —  he  is  no  longer  a  criminal 
premeditating  a  crime;  and  the  sentence  pronounced 
against  him  may  be  quite  a  light  one.  So  you  see,  my 
good  woman,  how  greatly  it  is  in  your  interest  to  obtain 
a  complete  confession  from  him.  If  he  persists  in  his 
denials,  I  am  afraid  the  jury  will  be  extremely  severe 
upon  him.  There  is  no  doubt  that  he  killed  Goyetche; 
but  under  what  conditions  did  he  kill  him  ?  Everything 
dejiends  on  that.  By  persistently  trying  to  pass  for  a 
totally  innocent  man  he  risks  being  thought  more  guilty 
than  he  is.     Do  you  understand.^ 

Yanetta.     Yes,  Monsieur. 

MouzoN.  Will  you  speak  to  him  as  I  suggest? 
Shall  I  send  for  him? 

Yanetta.     Yes,  Monsieur. 

MouzoN  [<o  the  recorder^  Bring  in  the  accused. 
Tell  the  gendarmes  I  shall  not  need  them. 

Etchepare  enters. 


Act  II  The  Red  Robe  281 

Scene   X :  —  The   same,  Etchepare. 

Yanetta.  Pierre  !  To  see  you  here  —  my  Pierre  — 
a  prisoner  —  like  a  thief !  My  poor  husband  —  my 
poor  husband !  Oh,  prove  you  have  n't  done  anything  ! 
Tell  his  worship  —  tell  him  the  truth.  It  '11  be  best. 
I  beg  you  tell  him  the  truth. 

Etchepare.  It 's  all  no  good,  I  know,  I  can  feel, 
I  'm  done  for.  All  that  I  can  do  or  say  would  be  no 
use.  Every  word  I  do  say  turns  against  me.  The 
gentleman  wants  me  to  be  guilty.  I  must  be  guilty, 
according  to  him.  So  you  see !  What  would  you  have 
me  do,  my  poor  darling.^  I  've  got  no  strength  to  go 
on  struggling  against  him.  Let  them  do  what  they  like 
with  me;  I  shan't  say  anything  more. 

Yanetta.  Yes,  yes,  you  must  speak.  You  must 
defend  yourself.  I  beg  of  you,  Pierre.  I  beg  of  you, 
defend  yourself. 

Etchepare.     What's   the  use.'' 

Yanetta.  I  beg  you  to  in  the  name  of  your  chil- 
dren. They  don't  know  anything  yet  —  but  they  cry 
because  they  see  me  crying  —  because,  you  see,  I  can't 
hide  it,  I  can't  control  myself  always  in  front  of  them. 
I  can't  be  cheerful,  can  I.''  And  then  they  love  me, 
so  they  notice  it.  And  they  ask  me  questions,  questions. 
If  you  only  knew !  They  ask  me  about  you.  Andre 
was  asking  me  again  this  morning,  "Where's  father? 
Are  you  going  to  look  for  him?  Tell  me,  are  you 
going  to  fetch  him  ?  "  I  told  him  "  yes  "  and  I  ran 
away.  You  see  you  must  defend  yourself  so  as  to  get 
back  to  them  as  soon  as  possible.  If  you  've  anything 
to  reproach  yourself  with,  even  the  least  thing,  tell  it. 
You  are  rough  sometimes  —  so  —  I  don't  know.  But 
if  you  went  to  Irissary,  you  must  say  so.  Perhaps  you 
had  a  quarrel  with  the  poor  old  man.  If  that  was  it, 
say  so,  say  so.     Perhaps  you  got  fighting  together  and 


282  The  Red  Robe  Act  II 

you  —  I  'm  saying  perhaps  you  did  —  I  don't  know  — 
you  understand  —  but  his  worship  promised  me  just  now 
that  if  it  was  like  that  they  would  n't  punish  you  —  or 
not  very  much.  My  God,  what  am  I  to  say  to  you? 
What 's  to  be  done  ? 

Etchepare.  So  you  believe  I  'm  guilty  —  you  too ! 
Tell  me  now !     Do  you  believe  me  guilty  too  ? 

Yanetta.      I  don't  know  !     I  don't  know  ! 

Etchepare  [to  Mouzon'}  Ah,  so  you  've  managed 
that  too ;  you  've  thought  of  that  too,  to  torture  me 
through  my  wife  —  and  it  was  you  put  it  into  her  head 
to  speak  to  me  about  my  children.  I  don't  know  what 
you  can  have  told  her,  but  you  've  almost  convinced 
her  that  I  'm  a  scoundrel,  and  you  hoped  she  'd  suc- 
ceed in  sending  me  to  the  guillotine  in  the  name  of  my 
children,  because  you  know  I  worship  them  and  they 
are  everything  to  me.  You  are  right;  I  dare  say  there 
is  n't  another  father  living  who  loves  his  little  ones 
more  than  I  love  mine.  [To  Yanetta]  You  know 
that,  Yanetta !  You  know  that !  And  you  know  too 
that  with  all  my  faults  I  'm  a  true  Christian,  that  I  be- 
lieve in  God,  in  an  almighty  God.  Well,  then,  listen! 
My  two  boys  —  my  little  Georges,  my  little  Andre  —  I 
pray  God  to  kill  them  both  if  I  'm  a  criminal ! 

Yanetta  [with  the  greatest  exultation]  He  is  in- 
nocent !  I  tell  you  he  's  innocent !  I  tell  you  he  's  in- 
nocent! [A  pause]  Ah,  now  you  can  bring  your 
proofs,  ten  witnesses,  a  hundred  if  you  like,  and  you 
might  tell  me  you  saw  him  do  it  —  I  should  tell  you : 
It 's  not  true !  It 's  not  true  !  You  might  prove  to  me 
that  he  had  confessed  to  it  himself,  and  I  would  tell  you 
it  was  n't  true !  Oh,  you  must  feel  it,  your  worship. 
You  have  a  heart  —  you  know  what  it  is  when  one  loves 
one's  children  —  so  you  must  be  certain,  you  too,  that 
he  's  innocent.  You  are  going  to  give  him  back  to  me, 
are  n't  you  ?  It 's  settled  now  and  you  will  give  him 
back  to  me.'' 


Act  II  The  Red  Robe  283 

MouzoN.     If  he  is  innocent,  why  did  he  lie  just  now? 

Etchepare.  It  was  you  who  lied  —  you !  You  told 
me  you  had  witnesses  who  saw  me  leave  my  house  that 
night  —  and  you  had  n't  anyone ! 

MouzoN.  If  I  had  no  one  at  that  moment,  I  have 
someone  now.  Yes,  there  is  a  witness  who  has  declared 
that  you  were  not  at  home  on  the  night  of  the  crime, 
and  that  witness  is  your  wife ! 

Etchepare  [to  Yanetta]     You! 

MouzoN  [to  the  recorder]  Give  me  her  interroga- 
tory. 

While  Mouzon  looks  through  his  papers  Yanetta  gazes 
for  some  time  at  her  husband,  then  at  Mouzon.  She  is 
reflecting  deeply.  Finally  she  seems  to  have  made  up 
her  mind. 

Mouzon.  There.  Your  wife  has  just  told  us  that 
you  left  the  house  at  ten  o'clock  and  did  not  return  until 
five  in  the  morning. 

Yanetta  [very  plainly]  I  did  not  say  that.  It  is 
not  true. 

Mouzon.     You  went  on  to  say  that  he  returned  alone. 

Yanetta.     I  did  not  say  that. 

Mouzon.  I  will  read  your  declaration.  [He  reads] 
Question :  Then  he  went  out  alone  ?  Reply :  Yes. 
Question:  At  ten  o'clock.''    Reply:  At  ten  o'clock. 

Yanetta.     I  did  not  say  that. 

Mouzon.  Come,  come !  And  I  was  careful  to  be 
precise.  I  said  to  you,  "  But  perhaps  you  are  thinking 
of  another  night?  It  was  really  on  the  night  of  As- 
cension Day  that  he  went  out  alone?  "  And  you  replied, 
"  Yes." 

Yanetta.     It 's  not  so ! 

Mouzon.     But  I  have  it  written  here! 

Yanetta.     You  can  write  whatever  you  like. 

Mouzon.  Then  I  'm  a  liar.  And  the  recorder  too, 
he  is  a  liar? 


284.  The  Red  Robe  Act  II 

Yanetta.  The  night  old  Goyetche  was  murdered 
my  husband  did  not  leave  the  house. 

MouzoN.  You  will  sign  this  paper,  and  at  once.  It 
is  your  interrogatory. 

Yanetta.  All  that  is  untrue!  I  tell  you  it's  un- 
true! [Shouting]  The  night  old  Goyetche  was  mur- 
dered my  husband  never  left  the  house  —  he  never  left 
the  house. 

MouzoN  [pale  with  anger]  You  will  pay  for  this ! 
[To  the  recorder]  Make  out  immediately  an  order  for 
the  detention  of  this  woman  and  call  the  gendarmes. 
[To  Yanetta]  Woman  Etchepare,  I  place  you  under 
arrest  on  a  charge  of  being  accessory  to  murder,  [To 
the  gendarmes]  Take  the  man  to  the  cells  and  return 
for  the  woman. 

The  gendarmes  remove  Etchepare. 

Scene  XI:  —  Mouzon,   Yanetta,  the  recorder. 

Yanetta.  Ah,  you  are  angry,  are  n't  you  —  furious 
—  because  you  have  n't  got  your  way  !  Although  you  've 
done  everything,  everything  you  possibly  could,  short 
of  killing  us  by  inches !  You  pretend  to  be  kind.  You 
spoke  kindly  to  us.  You  wanted  t6  make  me  send  my 
husband  to  the  scaifold!  [Mouzon  has  tahen  up  his 
brief  and  affects  to  be  studying  it  with  indifference] 
It 's  your  trade  to  supply  heads  to  the  guillotine.  You 
must  have  criminals,  guilty  men,  you  must  have  them 
at  any  cost.  When  a  man  falls  into  your  clutches  he  's 
a  dead  man.  They  come  in  here  innocent  and  they  've 
got  to  go  out  again  guilty.  It 's  your  trade ;  it 's  a 
matter  of  vanity  with  you  to  succeed!  You  ask  ques- 
tions which  don't  seem  to  mean  anything  in  particular, 
and  yet  they  may  send  a  man  to  the  next  world;  and 
when  you  've  forced  the  poor  wretch  to  condemn  him- 
self you  're  delighted,  like  a  savage  would  be ! 


Act  II  The  Red  Robe  285 

MouzON  [to  the  gendarmes^  Take  her  away  —  be 
quick ! 

Yanetta.  Yes,  a  savage!  You  call  that  justice! 
[To  the  gendarmes]  You  don't  take  me  like  that,  I 
tell  you !  [She  clings  to  the  furniture]  You  're  a 
butcher !  You  are  as  cruel  as  the  people  in  history 
who  broke  one's  bones  to  make  one  confess !  [The 
gendarmes  have  dragged  her  free;  she  lets  herself  fall 
to  the  ground  and  shouts  the  rest  of  her  speech  while  the 
men  drag  her  to  the  door  at  the  bach]  Brute !  Savage 
brute !  No,  you  don't  think  so  —  you  think  yourself 
a  fine  fellow,  I  have  n't  a  doubt,  and  you  're  a  butcher  — ■ 

MouzoN.     Take  her  away,   I   tell  you!     What,  the 
two  of  you  can't  rid  me  of  that  madwoman? 
The  gendarmes  make  a  renewed  effort. 

Yanetta.  Butcher !  Coward !  Judas  I  Pitiless 
beast !  Yes,  pitiless,  and  you  are  all  the  more  dis- 
honest and  brutal  when  you  've  got  poor  folk  like  us 
to  do  with.  [She  is  at  the  door,  holding  to  the  frame] 
Ah,  the  brutes,  they  are  breaking  my  fingers !  Yes, 
the  poorer  one  is  the  wickeder  you  are!  [They  carry 
her  away.  Her  cries  are  still  heard  as  the  curtain  falls] 
The  poorer  one  is  the  more  wicked  you  are  —  the  poorer 
one  is  the  more  wicked  you  are  — 

CURTAIN. 


ACT    III 

The  office  of  the  District  Attorney.  A  door  to  the 
left,  set  in  a  diagonal  wall,  gives  on  to  a  corridor.  It 
opens  inwardly ,  so  tliat  the  lettering  on  the  outside  can 
he  read:  "Parquet  de  Monsieur  le  Procureur  de  la 
Republique."     A  desk,  chairs,  and  a  chest  of  drawers. 

Scene  I:  —  Benoit,  La  Bouzole.  As  the  curtain 
rises  the  recorder  is  removing  various  papers  from  the 
desk  and  placing  them  in  a  cardboard  portfolio. 
Enter  La  Bouzole. 

La  Bouzole.     Good-day,  Benoit. 

Recorder  [^hesitating  to  take  the  hand  which  La 
Bouzole  extends  to  him'\  Your  worship,  it 's  too  great 
an   honor  — 

La  Bouzole.  Come,  come,  Monsieur  Benoit,  shake 
hands  with  me.  From  to-day  I  'm  no  longer  a  magis- 
trate; my  dignity  no  longer  demands  that  I  shall  be 
impolite  to  my  inferiors.  How  far  have  they  got 
with    the    Etchepare    trial? 

Recorder.  So  far  the  hearing  has  been  devoted 
entirely  to  the  indictment  and  the  counsel's  address. 

La  Bouzole.     They  will  finish  to-day.'' 

Recorder.  Oh,  surely.  Even  if  Monsieur  Vagret 
were  to  reply,  because  his  Honor  the  President  of 
Assizes   goes    hunting   to-morrow   morning. 

La  Bouzole.  You  think  it  will  be  an  acquittal. 
Monsieur  Benoit.'' 

Recorder.  I  do,  your  worship.  [He  is  about  to 
go  out] 

286 


Act  III  The  Red  Robe  287 

La  Bouzole.  Who  is  the  old  lady  waiting  in  the 
corridor? 

Recorder.  That  is  Etchepare's  mother,  your  wor- 
ship. 

La  Bouzole.  Poor  woman!  She  must  be  terribly 
anxious. 

Recorder.  No.  She  is  certain  of  the  verdict.  She 
has  n't  the  slightest  anxiety.  She  was  there  all  yes- 
terday afternoon  and  she  came  back  to-day,  just  as 
calm.  Only  to-day  she  wanted  at  any  price  to  see 
the  District  Attorney  or  one  of  his  assistants.  Mon- 
sieur Ardeuil  is  away  and  Monsieur  Vagret  — 

La  Bouzole.     Is  in  Court. 

Recorder.  She  seemed  very  much  put  out  at  find- 
ing no  one. 

La  Bouzole.  Well,  send  her  in  here ;  perhaps  I  can 
give  her  a  little  advice.  Maitre  Plagat  will  be  some 
time  yet,  won't  he? 

Recorder.     I  believe  so. 

La  Bouzole.  Well,  tell  her  to  come  and  speak  to 
me,  poor  woman.  That  won't  upset  anybody  and  it 
may  save  her  some  trouble. 

Recorder.  Very  well,  your  worship.  [He  goes  to 
the  door  on  the  right,  makes  a  sign  to  old  Madame 
Etchepare,  and  goes  out  by  the  door  at  the  back] 

La  Bouzole  [alone]  It 's  astonishing  how  benevo- 
lent I  feel  this  morning! 

Old  Madame  Etchepare  enters,  clad  in  the  costume 
peculiar  to  old  women  of  Basque  race. 

Scene  II:  —  La  Bouzole,  Old  Madame  Etchepare. 

La  Bouzole.     They  tell  me,  Madame,  that  you  wished 
to  see  one  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  Bar. 
Old  Madame  Etchepare.     Yes,  sir. 
La  Bouzole.     You  wish  to  be  present  at  the  trial? 


288  The  Red  Robe  Act  III 

Old  Madame  Etchepare.  No,  sir.  I  know  so  well 
that  they  cannot  condemn  my  son  that  what  they  say 
in  there  does  n't  interest  me  in  the  least.  I  am  waiting 
for  him.  I  have  come  because  they  have  turned  us 
out  of  our  house. 

La  Bouzole.     They  have  turned  you  out? 

Old   Madame   Etchepare.     The  bailiffs   came. 

La  Bouzole.     Then  your  son  owed  money.'' 

Old  Madame  Etchepare.  Since  they  arrested  him 
all  our  men  have  left  us.  We  could  n't  get  in  the 
crops  nor  pay  what  was  owing.  But  of  course  I  know 
they  '11  make  all  that  good  when  my  son  is  acquitted. 

La  Bouzole   \^aside^      Poor  woman! 

Old  Madame  Etchepare.  I  'm  so  thankful  to  see 
the  end  of  all  our  troubles.  He  '11  come  back  and  get 
our  house  and  field  again  for  us.  He  '11  make  them 
give  up  our  cattle.  That 's  why  I  wanted  to  see  one 
of  these  gentlemen. 

La  Bouzole.     Will  you  explain.'' 

Old  Madame  Etchepare.  A  fortnight  after  the 
gendarmes  came  to  arrest  my  boy,  Monsieur  Claudet 
turned  the  waste  water  from  his  factory  into  the 
brook  that  passes  our  house  where  we  water  the  beasts. 
That  was  one  of  the  things  that  ruined  us  too.  If 
Etchepare  finds  things  like  that  when  he  gets  back, 
God  knows  what  he  '11  do !  I  want  the  law  to  stop 
them  doing  us  all  this  harm. 

La  Bouzole.  The  law !  Ah,  my  good  woman,  it 
would  be  far  better  for  you  to  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  law. 

Old  Madame  Etchepare.  But  why.''  There  is  jus- 
tice, and  it 's  for  everybody  alike. 

La  Bouzole.     Of  course. 

Old  Madame  Etchepare.  Has  Monsieur  Claudet 
the  right  — 

La  Bouzole.     Certainly  not. 


Act  III  The  Red  Robe  289 

Old  Madame  Etchepare.     Then  I  want  to  ask  the 
judge  to  stop  him. 

La   Bouzole,     It  is   not  so  simple  as  you  suppose, 
Madame.     First  of  all  you  must  go  to  the  bailiff. 

Old  Madame  Etchepare.     Good. 

La  Bouzole.     He  will  make  a  declaration. 

Old  Madame  Etchepare.     What  about? 

La  Bouzole.  He  will  declare  that  your  water  supply 
is  contaminated. 

Old  Madame  Etchepare.  There  is  no  need  to 
trouble  a  bailiff,  sir.     A  child  could  see  that. 

La  Bouzole.     It  is  the  law. 

Old  Madame  Etchepare.     Well,  and  then? 

La  Bouzole.  Then  you  must  go  to  a  lawyer  and 
get  a  judgment. 

Old  Madame  Etchepare.  Very  well,  if  there  's  no 
other  way  of  doing  it  — 

La  Bouzole.  That  is  not  all.  If  Monsieur  Claudet 
contests  the  facts,  the  President  will  appoint  an  expert 
who  will  visit  the  site  and  make  a  report.  You  will 
have  to  put  in  a  request  that  the  President  will  grant 
a  speedy  hearing  on  grounds  of  urgency.  Your  case 
being  finally  put  on  the  list  of  causes,  it  would  be  heard 
in  its  turn  —  after  the  vacations. 

Old  Madame   Etchepare.     After  the  vacations ! 

La  Bouzole.  And  that  is  not  all.  Monsieur 
Claudet's  lawyer  might  default,  in  which  case  judg- 
ment would  be  declared  in  your  favor.  But  Monsieur 
Claudet  might  defend  the  case,  or  enter  some  kind 
of  plea  and  obtain  a  judgment  on  that  plea,  or  appeal 
against  the  judgment  before  the  matter  would  be  finally 
settled.     All  this  would  cost  a  great  deal  of  money. 

Old  Madame  Etchepare.     Who  would  pay  it? 

La  Bouzole.     You,  naturally,  and  Monsieur  Claudet. 

Old  Madame  Etchepare.  It 's  all  one  to  him;  he  's 
rich;  but  for  us,  who  haven't  a  penny  left! 


290  The  Red  Robe  Act  III 

La  Bouzole,  Then  you  would  have  to  apply  for 
judicial  assistance. 

Old  Madame  Etchepare.  That  would  take  still 
more  time? 

La  Bouzole.     That  would  take  much  longer. 

Old  Madame  Etchepare.  But,  sir,  I  've  always 
been  told  that  justice  was  free  in  France. 

La  Bouzole.  Justice  is  gratuitous,  but  the  means 
of  obtaining  access  to  justice  are  not.     That  is  all. 

Old  Madame  Etchepare.  And  all  that  would  take 
—  how  long  ? 

La  Bouzole.  If  Monsieur  Claudet  were  to  appeal, 
it  might  last  two  years. 

Old  Madame  Etchepare.  It  is  n't  possible  !  Is  n't 
the  right  on  my  side? 

La  Bouzole.  My  poor  woman,  it 's  not  enough  to 
have  the  right  on  your  side  —  you  must  have  the  law 
on  your  side  too. 

Old  Madame  Etchepare.  I  understand.  Justice  is 
a  thing  we  poor  people  can  know  only  when  it  strikes 
us  down.  We  can  know  it  only  by  the  harm  it  does  us. 
Well  —  we  must  go  away  —  it  does  n't  matter  where  — 
and  I  shan't  regret  it ;  people  insult  us ;  they  call  out 
to  us  as  they  pass.  Etchepare  would  n't  put  up  with 
that. 

La  Bouzole.  In  that  respect  the  law  protects  you. 
Register  a  complaint  and  those  who  insult  you  will  be 
prosecuted. 

Old  Madame  Etchepare.  I  don't  think  so.  I  have 
already  registered  a  complaint,  as  you  say,  but  they  've 
done  nothing  to  the  man  who  injured  us.  So  he 
goes  on. 

La  Bouzole.     Is  he  an  inhabitant  of  your  commune? 

Old  Madame  Etchepare.  Yes.  A  neighbor,  a 
friend  of  Monsieur  Mondoubleau,  the  deputy.  Labas- 
tide. 


Act  III  The  Red  Robe  291 

La  Bouzole.  Good.  I  will  do  what  I  can^  I  prom- 
ise you. 

Old  Madame  Etchepare.  Thank  you,  sir.  [A 
pause^  Then  I  will  go  and  wait  till  they  give  me  back 
my  boy. 

La  Bouzole.     That 's  right. 

She  goes  out  slowly. 

Scene  III:  —  La  Bouzole,  recorder. 

Recorder  {^entering  hy  the  door  at  the  hack^  The 
hearing  is  suspended,  your  worship. 

La  Bouzole.     Has  Maitre  Pla^at  concluded? 

Recorder.  With  great  applause.  Two  of  the  jury- 
men were  seen  wiping  their  eyes.  No  one  doubts  there 
will  be  an  acquittal. 

La  Bouzole.     So  much  the  better. 

Recorder.     Your  worship  knows  the  great  news.^ 

La  Bouzole.     Which?  ^ 

Recorder.     That  the  Attorney-General  has  arrived. 

La  Bouzole.     No  —  I  know  nothing  of  it. 

Recorder.  Yes,  he  has  just  arrived.  It  seems  he 
brings  the  nomination  of  one  of  these  gentlemen  to 
the  post  of  Councillor  in  the  Court  of  Appeal. 

La  Bouzole.  Ah,  ah !  And  whose  is  the  prize,  in 
your  opinion,  Benoit?     Vagret's? 

Recorder.  That  was  my  opinion.  I  hesitated  a 
long  time  between  him  and  his  Honor  the  President, 
and  I  decided  it  would  be  Monsieur  Vagret.  But  now 
I  think  I  am  wrong. 

La  Bouzole.  Do  you  think  Monsieur  Bunerat  is 
appointed  ? 

Recorder.  No,  your  worship.  I  feel  very  proud  — 
I  believe  it  is  my  employer  who  has  the  honor. 

La  Bouzole.     Monsieur  Mouzon  ! 

Recorder.     Yes,  your  worship. 


292  The  Red  Robe  Act  III 

La  Bouzole.     What  makes  you  think  that? 

Recorder.  His  Honor  the  Attorney-General  re- 
quested me  to  beg  Monsieur  Mouzon  to  come  and 
speak  to  him  before  the  rising  of  the  Court. 

La  Bouzole.  My  congratulations,  my  dear  Monsieur 
Benoit. 

Madame  Bunerat  enters. 


Scene  IV:  —  The  same  and  later  Madame  Vagret, 
Bunerat,  the  President  of  Assizes,  and  Mouzon,  then 
the  Attorney-General. 

Madame  Bunerat  [in  tears'\  Oh,  my  dear  Monsieur 
La  Bouzole ! 

La  Bouzole.     What  has  happened,  Madame  Bunerat? 

Madame  Bunerat.  It 's  that  advocate !  What 
talent !  What  a  heart !  What  feeling !  What  genius  ! 
I  feel  quite  shaken  —  quite  upset  — 

La  Bouzole.     It's  an  acquittal? 

Madame  Bunerat.     They  hope  so  — 

Madame  Vagret  [eiitering]  Well,  my  dear  Monsieur 
La  Bouzole,  you  have  heard  this  famous  advocate ! 
What  a  ranter ! 

La  Bouzole.  It  seems  he  has  touched  the  jury. 
That  means  an  acquittal. 

Madame  Vagret.     I  'm  very  much  afraid  it  does. 
Enter  Bunerat  in  a  hlach  gown. 

Bunerat.  Do  you  know  what  they  tell  me?  The 
Attorney-General  is  here ! 

Madame    Bunerat.      Really ! 

Madame  Vagret.     Are  you  certain? 

La  Bouzole.  It  is  true  enough.  He  brings  Monsieur 
Mouzon  his  appointment  to  the  Court  of  Appeal  at  Pau. 

Bunerat.     Mouzon ! 

Madame  Vagret  and  Madame  Bunerat.  And  my 
husband !     We  had  a  definite  promise  ! 


Act  III  The  Red  Robe  293 

The  President  of  Assises  enters,  wearing  a  red  gown. 

The  President.  Good-day,  gentlemen.  You  have 
not  seen  the  Attorney-General,  have  you  ? 

La  Bouzole.  No,  your  honor  —  but  if  you  will 
wait  — 

The  President.  No.  Tell  me,  La  Bouzole  —  you 
are  an  old  stager  —  were  you  in  Court.'' 

La  Bouzole.  From  the  balloting  for  the  jurymen 
to  the  plea  for  the  defence. 

The  President,  Did  you  notice  if  I  let  anything 
pass  that  would  make  an  appeal  to  the  Court  of  Cassa- 
tion possible.'' 

La  Bouzole.     I  am  sure  you  did  n't. 

The  President.  It 's  my  constant  fear  —  I  am 
thinking  of  nothing  else  all  the  time  counsel  are  speak- 
ing. I  always  have  the  Manual  of  the  President  of 
Assizes  wide  open  in  front  of  me ;  I  'm  always  afraid, 
nevertheless,  of  forgetting  some  formality.  You  see 
the  effect  of  being  in  the  Chancellery  —  I  never  have 
a  quiet  conscience  until  the  time-limit  has  expired.  [A 
pause]  They  tell  me  there  were  journalists  here  from 
Toulouse   and   Bordeaux. 

La  Bouzole.     And  one  from  Paris. 

The   President.     One  from   Paris!     Are  you  sure? 

La  Bouzole.  He  was  standing  near  the  prisoner's 
bench. 

The  President.  He  was  left  to  stand!  A  journal- 
ist from  Paris  and  he  was  left  to  stand!  [Catching 
sight  of  the  recorder]  You  knew  that,  Monsieur  the 
recorder,  and  you  didn't  warn  me?  Is  that  how  you 
perform  your  duties?  Go  at  once  and  express  my  re- 
gret and  find  him  a  good  scat;  do  you  hear? 

Recorder.     Yes,  your  honor.      [He  turns  to  go] 

The  President  [running  after  him]  Here!  [Aside 
to  the  recorder]      Find  out  if  he  's  annoyed. 

Recorder.     Yes,  your  honor. 


294  The  Red  Robe  Act  III 

The  President.  And  then  —  [He  encounters  Ma- 
dame Bunerat  at  the  door.  Pardon,  Madame.  He  goes 
out,  running,  lifting  up  his  goxon] 

La  Bouzole.  When  I  was  at  Montpellier  I  knew  an 
old  tenor  who  was  as  anxious  as  that  at  his  third 
debut  — 

Enter  Mouzon.     Frigid  salutations. 

Madame  Bunerat  [after  a  pause]  Is  it  true,  Mon- 
sieur Mouzon  — 

Madame  Vagret.     That  the  Attorney-General  — 

Bunerat.     Has  arrived? 

MouzoN  [haughtily]     Quite  true. 

Bunerat.  They  say  he  brings  a  councillor's  ap- 
pointment. 

Mouzon.     They  say  so. 

Madame  Bunerat.     And  you  don't  know? 

Madame  Vagret.     You  don't  know? 

Mouzon.     Nothing  at  all. 

Bunerat.     Does  nothing  lead  you  to  suppose  — 

Mouzon.     Nothing. 

Recorder  [entering]  Here  is  his  Honor  the  At- 
torney-General. 

Madame  Bunerat.     Oh,  Lord! 

She  arranges  her  hair.  Enter  the  Attorney-General, 
a  man  with  handsome,  grave,  austere  features. 

All  [hoxving  and  cringing,  in  a  murmur]  His  Honor 
the  Attorney-General  — 

Attorney-General.  I  think  you  can  resume  the 
hearing,  gentlemen  —  I  am  only  passing  through 
Mauleon.  I  hope  to  return  before  long  and  make  your 
better  acquaintance. 

All.     Your  honor —     [They  make  ready  to  leave] 

Attorney-General.  Monsieur  Mouzon,  will  you 
remain  ? 

Mouzon  hows. 


Act  III  The  Red  Robe  295 

Madame  Vagret  [as  she  goes  out]  My  respects  — 
the   honor  —  Monsieur  — 

Attorney-General  [bowing]  Mr.  President  — 
Madame  —  Madame  — 

Bunerat  [to  his  wife]     You  see,  that's  it! 

They  go  out. 

MouzoN  [to  the  recorder,  who  is  about  to  leave] 
Well,  my  dear  fellow,  I  believe  my  appointment  is 
settled. 

Recorder.  I  am  delighted.  Monsieur  the  Councillor ! 
[Exit] 

Scene  V:  —  Mouzon,  Attorney-General.  Mouzon 
rubs  his  hands  together,  bubbling  with  joy. 

MouzoN   [obsequiously]      Your  honor  — 

Attorney-General.  Sit  down.  [Mouson  does  so] 
A  report  has  come  to  my  office  from  Bordeaux  —  which 
concerns  you,  Monsieur !  [Feeling  in  his  portfolio] 
Here  it  is.  [Reading]  Mouzon  and  the  woman 
Pecquet.     You  know  what  it  is? 

MouzoN  [not  taking  the  matter  seriously,  forces  a 
smile.     After  a  long  silence]      Yes,  your  honor  — 

Attorney-General.  I  am  waiting  for  your  ex- 
planation. 

MouzoN  [as  before]  You  have  been  young,  your 
honor  — 

Attorney-General.     Not  to  that  extent.  Monsieur! 

Mouzon.     I  admit  I  overstepped  the  mark  a  trifle, 

Attorney-General  [reading]  "  Being  in  a  state  of 
intoxication,  together  with  the  woman  Pecquet  and  two 
other  women  of  bad  character  who  accompanied  him, 
the  aforesaid  Mouzon  used  insulting  and  outrageous 
language  to  the  police,  whom  he  threatened  with  dis- 
missal." Is  that  what  you  call  overstepping  the  mark 
a  trifle.'' 


296  The  Red  Robe  Act  III 

MouzoN.     Perhaps  the  expression  is  a  little  weak. 

Attorney-General.  And  you  allow  the  name  of  a 
magistrate  to  be  coupled  in  a  police  report  with  that 
of  the  woman  Pecquet? 

MouzoN.  She  told  me  her  name  was  Diane  de  Mont- 
morency. 

Attorney-General  l^continuing^  "  Questioned  by 
us,  the  commissary  of  police,  on  the  following  morning, 
as  to  the  rank  of  officer  in  the  navy  which  he  had  as- 
sumed " —  [The  Attorney-General  gazes  at  Mouzon. 
Another  pause^ 

MouzoN  [still  smiling^  Yes,  it 's  on  account  of  my 
whiskers,  you  know. 

Attorney-General.     Really.'' 

MouzoN.  When  I  —  oh,  well  —  when  I  go  to 
Bordeaux  I  always  assume  the  rank  of  naval  officer, 
in  order  to  safeguard  the  dignity  of  the  law. 

Attorney-General.  You  seem  to  have  been  a  little 
tardy  in  considering  it. 

Mouzon.  I  beg  you  to  note,  your  honor,  that  I  en- 
deavored to  safeguard  it  from  the  very  first,  since  I 
took  care  to  go  out  of  the  arrondissement  and  even 
the  judicial  division  —  in  order  to  — 

Attorney-General.  I  will  continue.  "  Monsieur 
Mouzon  then  informed  us  of  his  actual  position  as  ex- 
amining magistrate,  and  invoked  that  quality  in  request- 
ing that  we  would  stop  proceedings." 

Mouzon.  The  ass.  He  has  put  that  in  his  report? 
Oh,  really  —  that 's  due  to  his  lack  of  education.  No, 
it 's  a  political  affair  —  the  commissary  is  one  of  our 
opponents  —  I  asked  him  —  After  all  —  I  wanted  to 
avoid  scandal.  Anyone  would  have  done  the  same  in 
my  place. 

Attorney-General.  Is  that  the  only  explanation 
you  have  to  give  me? 

Mouzon.      Explanation?      The    truth    is.    Monsieur, 


Act  III  The  Red  Robe  297 

that  if  you  insist  on  maintaining,  in  this  conversation, 
the  relations  between  a  superior  and  a  subordinate,  I 
can  give  you  no  further  explanation.  But  if  you  would 
be  so  good  as  to  allow  me  for  a  moment  to  forget  your 
position,  if  you  would  agree  to  talk  to  me  as  man  to  man, 
I  should  tell  you  that  this  was  a  fault  of  youth,  regret- 
table, no  doubt,  but  explained  by  the  profound  boredom 
which  exudes  from  the  very  paving-stones  of  Mauleon. 
Come,  come !  I  had  dined  too  well.  Every  night  of  the 
year  a  host  of  decent  fellows  find  themselves  in  the 
same  case.  It 's  a  pecadillo  which  does  n't  affect  one's 
personal  honor. 

Attorney-General.  Monsieur,  when  one  has  the 
honor  to  be  a  magistrate  —  when  one  has  accepted  the 
mission  of  judging  one's  fellows,  one  is  bound  more 
than  all  others  to  observe  temperance  and  to  consider 
one's  dignity  in  all  things.  What  may  not  affect  the 
honor  of  the  private  citizen  does  affect  the  honor  of 
the  judge.     You  may  take  that  for  granted. 

MouzoN.  As  you  refuse  to  discuss  the  matter  other- 
wise than  in  an  official  manner,  nothing  remains  for 
me  but  to  beg  you  to  inform  me  what  you  have  decided 
to  do. 

Attorney-General.     Cannot  you  guess.'' 

MouzoN.  I  am  an  examining  magistrate.  You  will 
make  me  an  ordinary  magistrate.  It  means  my  income 
will  be  diminished  by  five  hundred  francs  a  year.  I 
accept. 

Attorney-General.  It  is  unfortunately  impossible 
for  me  to  content  myself  with  such  a  simple  measure. 
To  speak  plainly,  I  must  inform  you  that  Monsieur 
Coire,  the  director  of  the  newspaper  which  attacks  us 
so  persistently,  is  acquainted  with  the  whole  of  the 
facts  of  the  accusation  brought  against  you  and  will 
not  give  his  word  not  to  publish  them  unless  by  the 
end  of  the  month  vou  have  left  the  Mauleon  Court.     I 


298  The  Red  Robe  Act  III 

therefore  find  myself  in  the  unhappy  necessity  of  de- 
manding your  resignation. 

MouzoN.     I  shall  not  resign. 

Attorney-General.     You  will  not  resign.? 

MouzoN.  I  am  distressed  to  oppose  any  desire  of 
yours,  but  I  am  quite  decided.     I  shall  not  resign. 

Attorney-General.  But  really  —  you  cannot 
know  — 

MouzoN.     I  know  everything. 

Attorney-General.  Very  well,  sir,  we  shall  pro- 
ceed against  you. 

MouzoN.     Proceed.     [He  rises'] 

Attorney-General.  Are  you  not  alarmed  at  the 
scandal  which  would  result  from  your  appearance  in 
court  and  your  probable  conviction  ? 

MouzoN.  Conviction  is  less  probable  than  you  think. 
I  shall  be  able  to  defend  myself  and  to  select  my  ad- 
vocate. As  for  the  scandal,  it  would  n't  fall  on  me.  I 
am  a  bachelor,  with  no  family;  I  know  no  one  or  next 
to  no  one  in  Mauleon,  where  I  am  really  in  exile.  My 
friends  are  all  in  Bordeaux;  they  belong  to  the  monde 
ou  Von  s'amuse,  and  I  should  not  in  the  least  lose  caste  in 
their  eyes  on  account  of  such  a  prosecution.  You  think 
I  ought  to  leave  the  magistracy.''  Fortunately  I  have 
sufficient  to  live  on  without  the  thirty-five  hundred  francs 
the  Government  of  the  Republic  allows  me  annually. 

Attorney-General.  That  is  enough,  Monsieur. 
Good-day. 

MouzoN.     My  respects.      [He  goes  out] 

Doorkeeper.  Monsieur  the  deputy  is  here,  your 
honor.  Monsieur  the  deputy  says  that  your  honor  is 
waiting  for  him. 

Attorney-General.  That  is  so.  Ask  him  to  come 
in. 

Enter  Mondoubleau.  The  Attorney-General  advances 
towards  him  and  shakes  hands  with  him. 


Act  III  The  Red  Robe  299 

Scene    VI:  —  Mondouhleau,    Attorney-General. 

MoNDOUBLEAU.  Good-day,  my  dear  Attorney-Gen- 
eral. 

Attorney-General.     Good-day,  my  dear  deputy. 

MoNDOUBLEAU.  I  'm  delighted  to  see  you.  I  've 
come  from  Paris.  I  had  lunch  yesterday  with  my  friend 
the  Keeper  of  the  Seals.  The  Government  is  badly 
worried  just  at  the  moment. 

Attorney-General.     About  what.'' 

MoNDOUBLEAU.  They  're  afraid  of  an  interpellation. 
Just  a  chance  —  I  '11  tell  you  about  it.  Tell  me  —  it 
seems  you  have  a  young  assistant  here  who  has  been 
playing  pranks. 

Attorney-General.     Monsieur   Ardeuil .'' 

MoNDOUBLEAU.  Ardcuil,  yes,  that 's  the  man. 
Eugene  follows  matters  very  closely. 

Attorney-General.     Eugene.'' 

MoNDOUBLEAU.  Eugcuc  —  my  friend  Eugene  —  the 
Keeper  of  the  Seals.  He  said  to  me,  "  I  expect  your 
Attorney-General  to  understand  how  to  do  his  duty." 

Attorney-General.  I  ask  nothing  better,  but  let 
me  know  what  my  duty  is. 

MoNDOUBLEAU.  That 's  just  what  one  wants  to 
avoid.  But  look  here,  my  friend,  you  are  a  very  mys- 
terious person ! 

Attorney-General.     I } 

MoNDOUBLEAU.  You  are  asking  for  a  change  of  ap- 
pointment. 

Attorney-General.     Who  told  you  that.'* 

MoNDOUBLEAU.  Who  do  you  suppose?  He  is  the 
only  one  who  knows. 

Attorney-General.  Eug — [Quickly'\  The  Keeper 
of  the  Seals .'' 

MoNDOUBLEAU.  You  Want  to  be  appointed  to 
Orleans?     Am  I  correctly  informed.'' 


300  The  Red  Robe  Act  III 

Attorney-General.  Quite  true.  We  have  relations 
there. 

MoNDouBLEAu.  I  fancy  you  are  concerned  in  the 
movement  now  in  preparation. 

Attorney-General.  Is  there  a  movement  in  prep- 
aration } 

MoNDouBLEAu.  There  is.  As  for  Monsieur  Ardeuil, 
the  Minister  confined  himself  to  saying  that  he  had 
confidence  in  your  firmness  and  zeal. 

Attorney-General.  The  Keeper  of  the  Seals  may 
rely  on  me.  I  shall  have  to  show  considerable  severity 
in  several  directions  here,  and  I  shall  lack  neither  de- 
termination nor  zeal,  I  can  assure  you. 

MoNDouBLEAu.  Ycs,  but  abovc  all,  tact!  Eugene 
repeated  a  dozen  times,  "  Above  all,  no  prosecutions,  no 
scandals.  At  the  present  moment  less  than  ever.  We 
are  being  watched.  So  everything  must  be  done 
quietly." 

Attorney-General.  You  needn't  be  alarmed. 
There  's  the  matter  of  Mouzon. 

MoNDOuBLEAu.  Mouzon !  Mouzon  the  examining 
magistrate ! 

Attorney-General.     Yes. 

MoNDOuBLEAu.     Of  Maulcou  ? 

Attorney-General.     Precisely. 

MoNDOuBLEAu.  You  aren't  thinking  of  —  One  of 
my  best  friends  —  very  well  disposed  —  a  capital  fel- 
low —  an  excellent  magistrate,  full  of  energy  and  dis- 
cernment. I  mentioned  his  name  to  Eugene  in  connec- 
tion with  the  vacant  post  of  Councillor. 

Attorney-General  goffering  him  the  report^ 
You  've  picked  the  wrong  man.  I  am  going  to  show 
you  a  document  about  him.  Besides,  the  post  is  prom- 
ised to  Monsieur  Vagret. 

Mondoubleau.     What  is  wrong."* 

Attorney-General.     Here.     I  shall  have  to  report 


Act  III  The  Red  Robe  301 

him  to  the  Superior  Council  of  the  Magistracy  or  pro- 
ceed against  him  in  the  Court  of  Appeal. 

MoNDOuBLEAu.     What  has  he  done? 

Attorney-General.     Read  it. 

MoNDOUBLEAu  [after  casting  a  glance  over  the  docu- 
ment which  the  other  has  handed  to  him]  Of  course. 
But  really  —  there's  nothing  in  that.  If  you  keep 
quiet  about  it,  no  one  will  know  anything.  No  scandal. 
The  magistracy  is  suffering  from  too  many  attacks  al- 
ready just  now,  without  our  providing  our  enemies  with 
weapons. 

Attorney-General.  Unfortunately  Coire  knows  of 
it,  and  he  threatens  to  tell  the  whole  story  in  his  paper 
unless  Monsieur  Mouzon  is  sent  away  from  Mauleon. 

MoNDOUBLEAu.     The   devil!      [He   begins    to   laugh] 

Attorney-General.     What  are  you  laughing  at? 

MoNDOUBLEAu.  Nothing  —  an  extravagant  idea,  a 
jest.  [He  laughs]  Tell  me  —  but  you  won't  be  an- 
noyed ?  —  it 's  only  a  joke  — 

Attorney-General.     Well? 

MoNDOuBLEAu.  I  was  thinking  —  I  tell  you,  it 's  a 
grotesque  idea.  But  after  all  —  after  all,  if  you  pro- 
pose Mouzon  for  the  Councillor's  chair  at  Pau,  you 
will  be  pleasing  everyone ! 

Attorney-General.     My  dear  deputy  — 

MoNDOUBLEAu.  A  jokc  —  of  coursc,  merely  a  joke  — 
but  what 's  so  amusing  about  it  is  that  if  you  did  so 
it  would  please  Coire,  it  would  please  me,  it  would 
please  Mouzon,  and  it  would  please  Eugene,  who 
does  n't  want  any  scandal. 

Attorney-General.     But  it  would  be  a  — 

MoNDOuBLEAu.  No,  no.  In  politics  there  can  be  no 
scandal  except  where  there  is  publicity. 

Attorney-General.     But  really  — 

MoNDOUBLEAu.  I  agree  with  you  —  I  know  all  that 
could  be  said  —  I  repeat,  I  am  only  chaffing.     And  do 


302  The  Red  Robe  Act  III 

you  realize  —  it 's  very  curious  —  when  one  reflects  — 
this  fantastic  solution  is  the  only  one  that  does  not 
offer  serious  disadvantages  —  obvious  disadvantages. 
That  is  so.  If  you  leave  Mouzon  here,  Coire  tells 
everything.  If  you  proceed  against  him,  you  give  a 
certain  section  of  the  press  an  opportunity  it  won't 
lose  —  an  opportunity  of  sapping  one  of  the  pillars  of 
society.  Those  gentry  are  not  particular  as  to  the 
means  they  employ.  They  will  confound  the  whole 
magistracy  with  Mouzon.  It  won't  be  Mouzon  who 
will  be  the  rake,  but  the  Court,  the  Court  of  Appeal. 
There  will  be  mud  on  all  —  on  every  robe. 

Attorney-General.  But  you  can't  seriously  ask 
me  — 

MoNDOuBLEAu.  Do  you  know  what  we  ought  to  do? 
Let  us  go  and  talk  it  over  with  Rollet  the  senator  —  he 
is  only  a  step  from  here. 

Attorney-General.     I  assure  you  — 

MoNDouBLEAu.  Comc  —  comc.  You  will  put  in  a 
word  as  to  your  going  to  Orleans  at  the  same  time. 
What  have  you  to  risk.''  I  tell  you  my  solution  is  the 
best.  You  will  come  to  it,  I  assure  you !  I  '11  take 
you  along.      ^He  takes  his  arm] 

Attorney-General.  Well,  well,  I  had  certainly 
something  to  say  to  Rollet. 

The  doorkeeper  enters. 

Doorkeeper.     Your  honor  — 

Attorney-General.  Where  are  they?  The  ver- 
dict—? 

Doorkeeper.  Not  yet.  Monsieur  Vagret  has  been 
making  a  reply. 

Attorney-General.  Is  the  jury  in  the  withdrawing 
room? 

Doorkeeper.  No,  your  honor.  They  were  going 
out  when  Monsieur  Vagret  asked  for  an  adjourn- 
ment. 


Act  III  The  Red  Robe  303 

MoNDOUBLEAU.     What  an  idea!     Really!     Well,  my 
friend,  let  us  go.     I  tell  you,  you  '11  come  round ! 
Attorney-General  [weakly]      Never!     Never! 

Scene  VII:  —  Recorder,  then  the  doorkeeper,  then 
Madame  Vagret,  the  President  of  Assizes,  Bunerat, 
Madame  Bunerat,  and  Vagret. 

Recorder    [much  moved]      Admirable! 

Doorkeeper  [half  opening  the  door  at  the  hack] 
Monsieur  Benoit !     What 's  the  news  ? 

Recorder.  Splendid!  Our  Prosecutor  was  admir- 
able —  and  that  Etchepare  is  the  lowest  swine. 

Enter  Madame  Vagret,  greatly  moved.  The  recorder 
goes  up  to  her.     The  doorkeeper  disappears. 

Madame  Vagret.     Ah!     My  God! 

Recorder.  Madame  Vagret,  I  am  only  a  simple 
clerk,  but  allow  me  to  say  it  was  admirable !  Won- 
derful ! 

Madame  Vagret.     Wonderful ! 

Recorder.  As  for  the  counsel  from  Bordeaux,  Mon- 
sieur Vagret  had  him  absolutely  at  his  mercy ! 

Madame  Vagret.     Hadn't  he.^ 

Recorder.  He  's  certain  enough,  now,  to  be  con^ 
demned  to  death ! 

Madame  Vagret.     Certain ! 

Recorder.  Madame,  the  jurymen  were  looking  at 
that  fellow  Etchepare,  that  thug,  in  a  way  that  made 
my  blood  run  cold.  As  Monsieur  Vagret  went  on  with 
his  speech  you  felt  they  would  have  liked  to  settle  his 
hash  themselves  —  the  wretch  ! 

Madame  Vagret.     I  saw  that  — 

Recorder.  I  beg  your  pardon,  Madame  —  I  am  for- 
getting myself  —  but  there  are  moments  when  one  is 
thankful,  yes,  so  gratified,  that  social  differences  don't 
count. 


304  The  Red  Robe  Act  III 

Madame  Vagret.     You  are  right,  my  dear  man. 
Enter  the  President  of  Assizes  and  Bunerat. 

The  President.  Madame,  I  congratulate  you! 
We  've  got  it,  the  capital  sentence ! 

Madame  Vagret.  We  have  it  safely  this  time, 
haven't  we.  Monsieur? 

The  President.  That  is  certain.  But  where  is  our 
hero  ?  Magnificent  —  he  was  magnificent  —  was  n't  he, 
Bunerat  ? 

Bunerat.  Oh,  sir,  but  the  manner  in  which  you 
presided  prepared  the  way  so  well  — 

The  President.  Well,  well,  I  don't  say  I  count  for 
nothing  in  the  result,  but  we  must  do  justice  to  Vagret. 
[To  Madame  Vagret]  You  ought  to  be  greatly  grati- 
fied —  very  proud  and  happy,  my  dear  Madame  — 

Madame  Vagret.     Oh,  I  am,  your  honor  — 

The  President.  But  what  a  strange  idea  to  demand 
an  adjournment!     Is  he  unwell? 

Madame  Vagret.     Oh,  dear ! 

The  President.     No.     Here  he  is. 

Enter  Vagret.     He  is  anxious. 

Madame  Vagret.  Ah,  my  dear !  [She  takes  Ms 
hand  in  hers.  She  can  say  no  more,  being  choked  by 
tears  of  joy] 

The  President.     It  was  wonderful ! 

Bunerat.  I  can't  restrain  myself  from  congratula- 
ting you  too. 

Vagret.  Really,  you  confuse  me.  The  whole  merit 
is  yours.  Monsieur. 

The  President.  Not  at  all.  Do  you  know  what 
carried  them  all  away?      [He  lights  a  cigarette] 

Vagret.     No  ! 

The  President.  It  was  when  you  exclaimed, 
"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  you  own  houses,  farms,  and 
property;  you  have  beloved  wives,  and  daughters  whom 
you  tenderly  cherish.     Beware  —  "     You  were  splendid 


Act  III  The  Red  Robe  305 

there!  [Resuming]  "Beware,  if  you  leave  such 
crimes  unpunished;  beware,  if  jou  allow  yourselves  to 
be  led  astray  by  the  eloquent  sentimentality  of  the  de- 
fence; beware,  I  tell  you,  if  you  fail  in  your  duty  as 
the  instrument  of  justice;  beware,  lest  those  above  you 
snatch  up  the  sword  which  has  fallen  from  your  feeble 
hands,  when  the  blood  that  you  have  not  avenged  will 
be  spilt  upon  you  and  yours !  "  That  was  fine !  Very 
fine !     And  it  produced  a  great  effect. 

BuNERAT.  But  you,  my  dear  President,  you  moved 
them  even  more  noticeably  when  you  recalled  the  fact, 
very  appropriately,  that  the  accused  loved  the  sight  of 
blood. 

The  President.     Ah,  yes,  that  told  a  little ! 

All.     What?     What  was  that? 

BuNERAT.  The  President  put  this  question:  "On 
the  morning  of  the  crime  did  you  not  slaughter  two 
sheep  ?  "  "  Yes,"  replied  the  accused.  And  then,  look- 
ing him  straight  in  the  eyes  — 

The  President.  Yes,  I  asked  him:  "You  were  get- 
ting into  practice,  weren't  you?"  [To  Vagret]  But 
after  all,  if  I  have  to  a  certain  extent  affected  the  re- 
sult, the  greater  part  of  the  honor  of  the  day  is  yours. 

Vagret.     You  are  too  kind. 

The  President.  Not  at  all!  And  your  peroration! 
[With  an  artist's  curiosity]  You  were  really,  were  you 
not,  under  the  stress  of  a  great  emotion,  a  really  great 
emotion  ? 

Vagret  [gravely]  Yes,  I  was  under  the  stress  of  a 
great  emotion,  a  really  great  emotion. 

The  President.  You  turned  quite  pale  when  you 
faced  the  jury  —  when  you  added,  in  a  clear  voice, 
"  Gentlemen,  I  demand  the  head  of  this  man !  " 

Vagret  [his  eyes  fixed]     Yes. 

The  President.  Then  you  made  a  sign  to  the  ad- 
vocate. 


306  The  Red  Robe  Act  III 

Vagret.  Yes.  I  thought  he  would  have  something 
else  to  say. 

The  President.  But  why  delay  the  verdict.''  You 
had  won  the  victory. 

Vagret.     Precisely. 

The  President.     What  do  you  mean? 

Vagret.  During  my  indictment  a  fact  came  to  light 
that  worried  me. 

The  President.     A  fact? 

Vagret.  Not  a  fact  —  but  —  in  short — [^  pause] 
I  beg  your  pardon  —  I  am  very  tired  — 

The  President.  I  can  very  well  understand  your 
emotion,  my  dear  Vagret.  One  always  feels  —  on  the 
occasion  of  one's  first  death  sentence  —  but  — you  will 
see  one  gets  used  to  it.  [Going  out,  to  Bunerat]  In- 
deed, he  does  look  very  tired. 

Bunerat.  I  fancy  he  is  feeling  his  position  too 
keenly. 

Vagret.  As  I  was  leaving  the  Court  I  met  the  At- 
torney-General. I  begged  him  urgently  to  give  me  a 
moment's  conversation.  I  wanted  to  speak  with  him 
alone  —  and  with  you.  Monsieur  le  President. 

Bunerat.     As  you  wish. 

Madame  Vagret.  I  am  afraid  you  are  unwell,  my 
dear.  I  shall  wait  there.  I  will  come  back  directly 
these  gentlemen  have  gone. 

Vagret.     Very  well. 

Madame  Bunerat  [going  out,  to  her  husband] 
There  's  a  man  ready  to  do  something  stupid. 

Bunerat.     That  does  n't  concern  us. 

They  go  out. 

Scene  VIII:  —  Vagret,  the  President  of  Assizes,  then 
the  Attorney-General. 

The  President.  Did  you  notice  any  mistake  on 
my  part  in  the  direction  of  the  case? 


Act  III  The  Red  Robe  307 

Vagret.  No,  if  any  mistake  was  made,  it  was  I  who 
made  it. 

The  Attorney-General  enters. 

Attorney-General.  What  is  this  that  is  so  serious, 
my  dear  sir? 

Vagret.  It 's  this  —  I  am  more  worried  than  I  can 
say.  I  want  to  appeal  to  the  conscience  of  you  two 
gentlemen  —  to  reassure  myself  — 

Attorney-General.     Tell  us. 

Vagret.  A  whole  series  of  facts  —  the  attitude  of 
the  accused  —  certain  details  which  had  escaped  me  — 
have  given  rise,  in  my  mind,  to  a  doubt  as  to  the  guilt 
of  this  man. 

Attorney-General.  Was  there  any  mention  of 
these  facts,  these  details,  in  the  brief  .^ 

Vagret.     Certainly. 

Attorney-General.  Had  the  advocate  studied  this 
brief.'' 

Vagret.     Naturally. 

Attorney-General.  Well,  then?  What  are  you 
worrying  yourself  about? 

Vagret.     But  —  suppose  the  man  is  not  guilty  ? 

Attorney-General.  The  jury  will  decide.  We 
can  do  no  more,  all  of  us,  than  bow  to  its  verdict. 

Vagret.  Let  me  tell  you,  sir,  how  my  convictions 
have  been  shaken. 

Attorney-General.  I  do  not  wish  to  know.  All 
that  is  a  matter  between  yourself  and  your  conscience. 
You  have  the  right  to  explain  your  scruples  to  the  jury. 
You  know  the  proverb:  "  The  pen  is  a  slave,  but  speech 
is  free." 

Vagret.      I  shall  follow  your  advice. 

Attorney-General.      I  do  not  give  you  any  advice. 

Vagret.      I  shall  explain  my  doubts  to  the  jury. 

Attorney-General.      It  will  mean  acquittal. 

Vagret.     What  would  you  have? 


308  The  Red  Robe  Act  III 

Attorney-General.  Do  as  you  wish;  but  I  should 
like  to  tell  you  one  thing.  When  a  man  plans  a  start- 
ling trick  of  this  kind  and  has  the  courage  to  accom- 
plish it  entirely  of  his  own  accord,  he  must  have  the 
courage  to  accept  the  sole  responsibility  of  the  blunders 
he  may  commit.  You  are  too  clever;  you  want  to  dis- 
cover some  means  by  which  you  need  not  be  the  only  one 
to  suffer  from  the  consequences  of  your  vacillations. 

Vagret.     Clever?     I.''     How? 

Attorney-General.  Come,  come !  We  are  not 
children,  and  I  can  perfectly  well  see  the  trap  into 
which  you  have  lured  me.  You  are  sheltering  yourself 
behind  me.  If  the  Chancellery  should  complain  of 
your  attitude,  you  will  say  that  you  consulted  your 
superior,  and  I  shall  be  the  victim.  And  then  I  shall 
have  a  quarrel  with  the  Chancellery  on  my  hands.  You 
don't  care,  you  don't  think  of  my  position  or  my  inter- 
ests, of  which  you  know  nothing.  Some  silly  idea  gets 
into  your  head,  and  against  my  will  you  want  to  make 
me  responsible  for  it.  I  say  again,  it  is  extremely 
clever,  and  I  congratulate  you,  but  I  don't  thank  you. 

Vagret.  You  have  misunderstood  me,  sir.  I  have 
no  wish  to  burden  you  with  the  responsibilities  I  am 
about  to  assume.  I  should  hardly  choose  the  moment 
when  I  am  on  the  point  of  being  appointed  Councillor 
to  perpetrate  such  a  blunder.  I  told  you  of  my  per- 
plexity, and  I  asked  your  advice.     That  was  all. 

The  President.  Are  you  certain  one  way  or  the 
other? 

Vagret.  If  I  were  certain,  should  I  ask  advice? 
[A  pause]  If  we  only  had  a  cause  for  cassation,  a 
good  — 

The  President  [enraged]  What's  that  you  say? 
Cause  for  cassation?  Based  on  an  error  or  on  an  over- 
sight on  my  part,  no  doubt!  Really,  you  have  plenty 
of  imagination!     You   are  attacked  by   certain  doubts. 


Act  III  The  Red  Robe  309 

certain  scruples  —  I  don't  know  what  —  and  in  order 
to  quiet  your  morbidly  distracted  conscience  you  ask 
me  kindly  to  make  myself  the  culprit !  Convenient, 
in  truth,  to  foist  on  others  who  have  done  their  duty 
the  blunders   one  may  have  committed  oneself! 

Attorney-General  [quietly]      It  is  indeed. 

The  President.  And  at  the  Chancellery,  when  they 
mention  me,  they  '11  say,  "  Whatever  sort  of  a  councillor 
is  this,  who  has  n't  even  the  capacity  to  preside  over 
an  Assize  Court  at  Mauleon !  "  A  man  whom  we  've 
taken  such  trouble  to  get  condemned !  And  to  make 
me,  me,  the  victim  of  such  trickery !  No,  no !  Think  of 
another  way,  my  dear  Monsieur;  you  won't  employ  that, 
I  can  assure  you. 

Vagret.  Then  I  shall  seek  other  means;  but  I  shall 
not  leave  matters  in  their  present  state. 

Attorney-General.  Do  what  you  like,  but  realize 
that  I  have  given  you  no  advice  in  one  direction  or 
another. 

Vagret.     I  realize  that. 

The  President.  When  you  have  decided  to  resume 
the  hearing  you  will  notify  us. 

Vagret.     I  will  notify  you. 

Attorney-General  [to  the  President]  Let  us  go. 
They  leave  the  office. 

Scene  IX :  —  Vagret,  Madame  Vagret. 

Madame  Vagret.     What  is  it? 

Vagret.     Nothing. 

Madame  Vagret.  Nothing.''  You  are  so  depressed 
—  and  yet  you've  just  had  such  a  success  as  will  tell 
on  your  career. 

Vagret.     It  is  that  success  which  alarms  me. 

Madame  Vagret.     Alarms  you? 

Vagret.     Yes,   I  'm  afraid  — 


310  The  Red  Robe  Act  III 

Madame  Vagret.     Afraid  of  what? 

Vagret.     Of  having  gone  too  far. 

Madame  Vagret.  Too  far !  Does  n't  the  murderer 
deserve  death  ten  times  over.'' 

Vagret  [after  a  pause]  Are  you  quite  certain,  your- 
self,  that  he  is  a  murderer? 

Madame  Vagret.     Yes. 

Vagret  [in  a  low  voice]     Well  —  for  myself  — 

Madame  Vagret.     You? 

Vagret.     I  —  I  don't  know.      I  know  nothing. 

Madame  Vagret.     My  God! 

Vagret.  A  dreadful  thing  happened  to  me  in  the 
course  of  my  indictment.  While  I,  the  State  Attorney, 
the  official  prosecutor,  was  exercising  my  function,  an- 
other self  was  examining  the  case  calmly,  in  cold  blood; 
an  inner  voice  kept  reproaching  me  for  my  violence  and 
insinuating  into  my  mind  a  doubt,  which  has  gone  on 
increasing.  A  painful  struggle  has  been  going  on  in 
my  mind,  a  cruel  struggle  —  and  if,  as  I  was  finishing, 
I  labored  under  that  emotion  of  which  the  President 
was  speaking,  if  when  I  demanded  the  death  penalty 
my  voice  was  scarcely  audible,  it  was  because  I  was  at 
the  end  of  my  struggle;  because  my  conscience  was  on 
the  point  of  winning  the  battle,  and  I  made  haste  to 
finish,  because  I  was  afraid  it  would  speak  out  against 
my  will.  When  I  saw  the  advocate  remain  seated  and 
that  he  was  not  going  to  resume  his  speech  in  order  to 
tell  the  jury  the  things  I  would  have  had  him  tell 
them  —  then  I  was  really  afraid  of  myself,  afraid  of 
my  actions,  of  my  words,  of  their  terrible  consequences, 
and  I  wanted  to  gain  time. 

Madame  Vagret.  But,  my  dear,  you  have  done  your 
duty;  if  the  advocate  has  not  done  his,  that  does  not 
concern  you. 

Vagret.  Always  the  same  reply.  If  I  were  an 
honest  man   I   should  tell  the   jury,  when  the   hearing 


Act  III  The  Red  Robe  311 

is  resumed,  of  the  doubts  that  have  seized  me.  I 
should  explain  how  those  doubts  arose  in  me;  I  should 
call  their  attention  to  a  point  which  I  deliberately  con- 
cealed from  them,  because  I  believed  the  counsel  for  the 
defence  would  point  it  out  to  him. 

Madame  Vagret.  You  know,  my  dear,  how  thor- 
oughly I  respect  your  scruples,  but  allow  me  to  tell 
you  all  the  same  that  it  won't  be  you  who  will  declare 
Etchepare  guilty  or  not  guilty;  it  will  be  the  jury.  If 
anyone  ought  to  feel  disturbed,  it  is  Maitre  Plagat,  not 
you  — 

Vagret.     But  I  ought  to  represent  justice! 

Madame  Vagret.  Here  is  a  prisoner  who  comes 
before  you  with  previous  convictions,  with  a  whole 
crushing  series  of  circumstances  establishing  his  guilt. 
He  is  defended  by  whom?  By  one  of  the  ornaments 
of  the  Bar,  a  man  famed  for  his  conscience  as  much 
as  for  his  ability  and  his  oratorical  skill.  You  ex- 
pound the  facts  to  the  jury.  If  the  jury  agrees  with 
you,  I  cannot  see  that  your  responsibility  as  a  magis- 
trate is  involved. 

Vagret.  I  don't  think  about  my  responsibility  as  a 
magistrate  —  but  my  responsibility  as  a  man  is  cer- 
tainly involved !  No !  No !  I  have  not  the  right.  I 
tell  you  there  is  a  series  of  circumstances  in  this  case 
of  which  no  one  has  spoken  and  the  nature  of  which 
makes  me  believe  in  the  innocence  of  the  accused. 

Madame  Vagret.  But  —  these  circumstances  —  how 
was  it  you  knew  nothing  of  them  until  now? 

Vagret  \^his  head  drooping]  Do  you  think  I  did 
know  nothing  of  them?  My  God!  Shall  I  have  the 
courage  to  tell  you  everjrthing?  I  am  not  a  bad  man, 
am  I  ?  I  would  n't  wish  anyone  to  suffer  for  a  fault 
of  mine  —  but  —  oh,  I  am  ashamed  to  admit  it,  to  say 
it  aloud,  even,  when  I  have  admitted  it  to  myself ! 
Well,  when  I  was  studying  the  brief,  I  had  got  it  so 


312  The  Ked  Robe  Act  III 

firmly  fixed  in  my  mind,  to  begin  with,  that  Etchepare 
was  a  criminal,  that  when  an  argument  in  his  favor 
presented  itself  to  my  mind,  I  rejected  it  utterly, 
shrugging  my  shoulders.  As  for  the  facts  of  which  I 
am  speaking,  and  which  gave  rise  to  my  doubts  —  at 
first  I  simply  tried  to  prove  that  those  facts  were  false, 
taking,  from  the  depositions  of  the  witnesses,  only  that 
which  would  militate  against  their  truth  and  rejecting 
all  the  rest,  with  a  terrible  simplicity  of  bad  faith.  And 
in  the  end,  in  order  to  dissipate  my  last  scruples,  I  told 
myself,  just  as  you  told  me,  "  That  is  the  business  of  the 
defence ;  it  is  n't  mine !  "  Listen,  and  you  '11  see  to 
what  point  the  exercise  of  the  magistrate's  office  dis- 
torts our  natures,  makes  us  unjust  and  cruel.  At  first 
I  had  a  feeling  of  delight  when  I  saw  that  the  President, 
in  his  cross-examination,  was  throwing  no  light  what- 
ever on  this  series  of  little  facts.  It  was  my  profession 
speaking  in  me,  my  profession,  do  you  see?  Oh,  what 
poor  creatures  we  are,  what  poor  creatures ! 

Madame  Vagret.  Perhaps  the  jury  won't  find  him 
guilty  ? 

Vagret.     It  will  find  him  guilty. 

Madame  Vagret.  Or  it  may  find  there  are  extenu- 
ating circumstances. 

Vagret.  No.  I  adjured  them  too  earnestly  to  re- 
fuse to  do  so.  I  was  zealous  enough,  was  n't  I  ?  Vio- 
lent enough? 

Madame  Vagret.  That 's  true.  Why  did  you  make 
your  indictment  so  passionately? 

Vagret.  Ah,  why,  why?  Long  before  the  hearing 
of  the  case  it  was  so  clearly  understood  by  everybody 
that  the  prisoner  was  the  criminal !  And  then  it  all 
went  to  my  head,  it  intoxicated  me  —  the  way  they 
talked.  I  was  the  spokesman  of  humanity,  I  was  to 
reassure  the  countryside,  I  was  to  restore  tranquillity 
to  the  family,  and  I  don't  know  what  else !     So  then  — 


Act  III  The  Red  Robe  313 

I  felt  I  must  show  myself  equal  to  the  part  intrusted 
to  me.  My  first  indictment  was  relatively  moderate  — 
but  when  I  saw  the  celebrated  counsel  making  the  jury- 
men weep,  I  thought  I  was  lost;  I  felt  the  verdict 
would  escape  me.  Contrary  to  my  habit,  I  replied. 
When  I  rose  to  my  feet  for  the  second  time  I  was 
like  a  man  fighting,  who  has  just  had  a  vision  of  de- 
feat, and  who  therefore  fights  with  the  strength  of 
despair.  From  that  moment  Etchepare,  so  to  speak, 
no  longer  existed.  I  was  no  longer  concerned  to  defend 
society  or  sustain  my  accusation;  I  was  contending 
against  the  advocate;  it  was  a  trial  of  orators,  a  compe- 
tition of  actors ;  I  had  to  be  the  victor  at  all  costs.  I 
had  to  convince  the  jury,  resume  my  hold  on  it,  wring 
from  it  the  double  "  yes  "  of  the  verdict.  I  tell  you, 
Etchepare  no  longer  counted;  it  was  I  who  counted, 
my  vanity,  my  reputation,  my  honor,  my  future.  It 's 
shameful,  I  tell  you,  shameful.  At  any  cost  I  wanted 
to  prevent  the  acquittal  which  I  felt  was  certain.  And 
I  was  so  afraid  of  not  succeeding  that  I  employed  every 
argument,  good  and  bad,  even  that  of  representing  to 
the  terrified  jurymen  their  own  houses  in  flames,  their 
own  flesh  and  blood  murdered.  I  spoke  of  the  vengeance 
of  God  falling  on  judges  without  severity.  And  all  this 
in  good  faith  —  or  rather  unconsciously,  in  a  burst  of 
passion,  in  an  access  of  anger  against  the  advocate, 
whom  I  hated  at  that  moment  with  all  my  might.  My 
success  was  greater  than  I  hoped;  the  jury  is  ready  to 
obey  me;  and  I,  my  dear,  I  have  allowed  myself  to  be 
congratulated,  I  have  grasped  the  hands  held  out  to 
me.     That  is  what  it  is  to  be  a  magistrate! 

Madame  Vagret.  Never  mind.  Perhaps  there 
are  n't  ten  in  all  France  who  would  have  acted  other- 
wise. 

Vagret.  You  are  right.  Only  —  if  one  reflects  — 
it 's  precisely  that  that 's  so  dreadful. 


314  The  Red  Robe  Act  III 

Recorder    [entering]      Monsieur    le    Procureur,    the 
President  is  asking  when  the  sitting  can  be  resumed. 

Vagret.     At  once. 

Madame  Vagret.     What  are  you  going  to  do? 

Vagret.     My  duty  as   an  honest  man.      [He   makes 
ready  to  go] 

curtain. 


ACT    IV 

Scenes  —  Same  as  the  Second  Act. 

Scene  I:  —  Bunerat,  the  President  of  Assizes,  and 
Vagret. 

Bunerat.  Well,  your  honor,  there 's  another  ses- 
sion finished. 

The  President  [in  red  robe']  I  've  been  in  a  blue 
funk  lest  these  brutes  would  make  me  lose  my  train. 
I  'm  going  shooting  to-morrow  on  the  Cambo  Ponds, 
you  see,  my  dear  fellow,  and  after  to-night's  train  it 's 
no  go.  {^Loohs  at  his  watch]  Oh,  I  've  an  hour  and 
a   half  yet. 

Bunerat.  And  what  do  you  think  of  it,  your 
honor .'' 

The  President.  Of  what?  Of  the  acquittal? 
What  does  it  matter  to  me?  I  don't  care  —  on  the 
contrary,  I  prefer  it.  I  am  certain  the  advocate  won't 
ferret  out  some  unintentional  defect  —  some  formality 
gone  wrong.     Where  's   my   hat-box  ? 

He  is  about  to  stand  on  a  chair  to  reach  the  hat-box, 
which  is  on  the  top  of  a  cupboard.  Bunerat  precedes 
him. 

Bunerat.  Permit  me,  Monsieur.  You  are  at  home 
here.  [From  the  chair]  I  believe  I  shall  have  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you  here  again  next  session.  [He 
sighs,  holding  out  the  hat-box] 

The  President.  A  pleasure  I  shall  share,  my  dear 
fellow.      [He  takes  out  a  small  felt  hat  from  the  box] 

315 


316  The  Red  Robe  Act  IV 

BuNERAT.  Would  you  like  a  brush  ?  There 's 
Mouzon's  brush.  [A  sigh]  Ah,  good  God,  when  shall 
I  leave  Mauleon  ?     I  should  so  like  to  live  at  Pau ! 

The  President.  Pooh !  A  much  overrated  city ! 
Come,  come ! 

BuNERAT.  I  suppose  my  new  duties  won't  take  me 
there  yet.'' 

The  President.  Don't  you  worry  yourself.  In  the 
winter,  yes,  it 's  very  well  —  but  the  summer  —  ah,  the 
summer. 

Bunerat.      I  am  not  the  one  appointed.'' 

The   President.     Ah!     You  know  already? 

Bunerat.  Yes  —  I  —  yes  —  that  is  to  say,  I  did  n't 
know  it  was  official. 

The  President  [brushing  his  hat  and  catching  sight 
of  a  dent]  Dented  already.  In  these  days  the  hats 
they  sell  you  for  felt,  my  dear  chap,  they  're  paste- 
board,  simply  — 

Bunerat.     True.     Yes,    I   did  n't   know   it   was    of- 
ficial.    Monsieur  Mouzon  is  very  lucky. 
Enter  Vagret  in  mufti. 

The  President.  There,  there  is  our  dear  Monsieur 
Vagret.  Changed  your  dress  already.  Yes,  you  *re 
at  home,  you.  For  my  part  I  must  pack  up  all  this. 
Where  the  devil  is  the  box  I  put  my  gown  in?  [Bu- 
nerat makes  a  step  to  fetch  it  and  then  remains  motion- 
less] It 's  curious  —  that  —  what  have  they  done  with 
it  ?  In  that  cupboard  —  you  have  n't  seen  it,  my  dear 
Monsieur  Bunerat? 

Bunerat.     No. 

The  President.  Ah,  here  it  is  —  and  my  jacket  in 
it.  [He  opens  the  box  and  takes  out  his  jacket,  which 
he  lays  aside  on  the  table]  Well,  well,  you  've  got 
them  acquitted,  my  dear  sir!     Are  you  satisfied? 

Vagret.     I  am  very  glad. 

The    President.     And   if   they   are   the   murderers? 


Act  IV  The  Red  Robe  317 

Vagret.  I  must  console  myself  with  Berryer's  re- 
mark: "  It  is  better  to  leave  ten  guilty  men  at  liberty 
than  to  punish  one  innocent  man." 

The  President.     You  have  a  sensitive  nature. 

Vagret.  Ought  one  to  have  a  heart  of  stone,  then, 
to  be  a  magistrate? 

The  President  [tying  up  the  box  in  which  he  has 
put  his  judge's  bonnet]  One  must  keep  oneself  above 
the  little  miseries  of  humanity. 

Vagret.     Above  the  miseries  of  others. 

The  President.     Hang  it  all  — 

Vagret.     That  is  what  we  call  egoism. 

The   President.     Do  you  say  that  for  my  benefit? 

Vagret.     For  all  three  of  us. 

Bunerat.  Au  revoir,  gentlemen.  Au  revoir.  [He 
shakes  hands  with  each  and  goes  out] 

The  President  [taking  off  his  gown]  My  dear 
Monsieur,  I  beg  you  to  be  more  moderate  in  your  re- 
marks. 

Vagret.  Ah,  I  assure  you  that  I  am  moderate !  If 
I  were  to  speak  what  is  in  my  mind,  you  would  hear 
very  unpleasant  things. 

The  President  [in  shirt  sleeves]  Are  you  forgetting 
to  whom  you  are  speaking?  I  am  a  Councillor  of  the 
Court,  Monsieur  le   Procureur. 

Vagret.  Once  again,  I  am  not  speaking  to  you 
merely;  the  disagreeable  things  I  might  say  would  con- 
demn me  equally.      I  am  thinking  of  those  poor  people. 

The  President  [brushing  his  gown]  What  poor 
people?  The  late  prisoners?  But  after  all,  they  are 
acquitted.  What  more  do  you  want?  To  provide  them 
with  an  income? 

Vagret.  They  are  acquitted,  true;  but  they  are 
condemned,  all  the  same.  They  are  sentenced  to 
misery  for  life. 

The    President.     What   are    you    talking   about? 


318  The  Red  Robe  Act  IV 

Vagret.     And  through  your  fault.  Monsieur. 

The  President  [stopping  in  his  task  of  folding  his 
gown]     My  fault ! 

Vagret.  And  what  is  so  particularly  serious  is  that 
you  did  n't  know  it,  you  did  n't  see,  you  have  n't  seen 
the  harm  you  did. 

The  President.  What  harm?  I  have  done  no 
harm !     I  ? 

Vagret.  When  you  informed  Etchepare  that  his 
wife  had  long  ago  been  condemned  for  receiving  stolen 
goods,  and  that  she  had  been  seduced  before  his  mar- 
riage with  her.  When  you  did  that  you  did  a  wicked 
thing. 

The  President.  You  are  a  Don  Quixote.  Do  you 
suppose  Etchepare  didn't  know  all  that.^ 

Vagret.  If  you  had  noticed  his  emotion  when  his 
wife,  on  your  asking  her  if  the  facts  were  correct,  re- 
plied that  they  were,  you  would  be  certain,  as  I  am, 
that  he  knew  nothing. 

The  President  [packing  his  gown  in  its  box]  Well, 
even  so !  You  attribute  to  people  of  that  sort  sus- 
ceptibilities which  they  don't  possess. 

Vagret.  Your  honor,  "  people  of  that  sort "  have 
hearts,  just  as  you  and  I  have. 

The  President.  Admitted.  Did  n't  my  duty  force 
me  to  do  as  I  did? 

Vagret.     I  know  nothing  about  that. 

The  President  [still  in  shirt  sleeves]  It 's  the  law 
that  is  guilty,  then,  eh?  Yes?  Well,  Monsieur,  if 
I  did  my  duty  —  and  I  did  —  you  are  lacking  in  your 
duty  in  attacking  the  law,  whose  faithful  servant  you 
should  be,  the  law  which  I,  for  one,  am  proud  to 
represent. 

Vagret.     There  's  no  reason  for  your  pride. 

The  President.     Monsieur ! 

Vagret.      It 's   a  monstrous   thing,   I   tell  you,  that 


Act  IV  The  Red  Robe  319 

one  can  reproach  an  accused  person,  whether  innocent 
or  guilty,  with  a  fault  committed  ten  years  ago,  and 
which  has  been  expiated.  Yes,  Monsieur,  it  is  a  hor- 
rible thing  that,  after  punishing,  the  law  does  not  par- 
don. 

The  President  [who  has  put  on  his  jacket  and  hat] 
If  you  think  the  law  is  bad,  get  it  altered.  Enter 
Parliament. 

Vagret.  Alas,  if  I  were  a  deputy,  it  is  probable 
that  I  should  be  like  the  rest ;  instead  of  thinking  of  such 
matters  I  should  think  of  nothing  but  calculating  the 
probable  duration  of  the  Government. 

The  President  [his  box  under  his  arm]  In  that 
case  —  is  the  doorkeeper  — 

Vagret  [touching  a  bell]  He  will  come.  Then  it 's 
Monsieur  Mouzon  who  is  appointed  in  my  place? 

The  President.     It  is  Monsieur  Mouzon. 

Vagret.  Because  he  's  the  creature  of  a  deputy,  a 
Mondoubleau  — 

The  President.  I  cannot  allow  you  to  speak  ill  of 
Monsieur  Mondoubleau  —  before  my  face. 

Vagret.  You  think  you  may  perhaps  have  need  of 
him. 

The  President.  Precisely.  [The  doorkeeper  ap- 
pears] Will  you  carry  that  to  my  hotel  for  me?  The 
hotel  by  the  station.  You  will  easily  recognize  it;  my 
sentry  is  at  the  door.  [He  hands  the  doorkeeper  his 
boxes]     Au  revoir,  my  dear  Vagret  —  no  offence  taken. 

He  goes.  Vagret  puts  on  his  hat  and  also  makes 
ready  to  go.     Enter  recorder  and  Etchepare. 

The  Recorder.     You  are  going,  your  honor? 

Vagret.     Yes, 

The  Recorder.  You  won't  have  any  objection,  then, 
if  I  bring  Etchepare  in  here  ?  He  's  in  the  corridor, 
waiting  for  the  formalities  of  his  release  —  and  he 
complains  he  's  an  object  of  curiosity  to  everyone. 


820  The  Red  Robe  Act  IV 

Vagret.     Of  course ! 

The  Recorder.  I  '11  tell  them  to  bring  his  wife  here 
too  when  she  leaves  the  record  office. 

Vagret.     Very   well. 

The  Recorder.  I  am  just  going  to  warn  the 
warders  —  but  the  woman  Etchepare  can't  be  released 
immediately. 

Vagret.     Why  ? 

The  Recorder.  She  's  detained  in  connection  with 
another  case.  She 's  charged  with  abusing  a  magis- 
trate in  the  exercise  of  his  duty. 

Vagret.     Is  that  magistrate  Monsieur  Mouzon? 

The  Recorder.     Yes,  Monsieur. 

Vagret.     I  will  try  to  arrange  that. 

The  Recorder.     Good-day,  your  honor. 

Vagret.     Good-day. 

Scene  II. 

The  Recorder  [at  the  door^  Etchepare  —  come  in. 
You  had  better  wait  here  for  your  final  discharge.  It 
won't  take  much  longer. 

Etchepare.     Thank  you.  Monsieur. 

The  Recorder.  Well,  there  you  are,  then,  acquitted, 
my  poor  fellow !     There  's  one  matter  done  with. 

Etchepare.  It 's  finished  as  far  as  justice  is  con- 
cerned. Monsieur ;  it  is  n't  finished  for  me.  I  'm  ac- 
quitted, it 's  true,  but  my  life  is  made  miserable. 

The   Recorder.     You  did  n't  know  — 

Etchepare.     That 's  it. 

The  Recorder.  It 's  a  long  time  ago  —  you  '11  for- 
give her. 

Etchepare.  Things  like  that.  Monsieur  —  a  Basque 
never  forgives  them.  It 's  as  though  a  thunderbolt 
had  struck  me  to  the  heart.  And  all  the  misfortune 
that 's  befallen  us  —  it 's  she  who  is  the  cause  —  God 
has  avenged  himself.     Everything  's  over. 


Act  IV  The  Red  Robe  321 

The  Recorder  [^after  a  pause^  I  am  sorry  for  you 
with  all  my  heart. 

Etchepare.  Thank  you,  Monsieur.  [A  pause] 
Since  you  are  so  kind,  Monsieur,  will  you  allow  my 
mother,  who  's  there  in  the  corridor,  waiting  for  me, 
to  come  and  speak  to  me.'' 

The  Recorder.     I  '11  send  her  in  to  you.     Good-bye. 

Etchepare.     Good-bye. 

Scene  III:  —  The  recorder  goes  out.  Enter  Etche- 
pare's  mother. 

Etchepare  [^pressing  his  mother's  head  against  his 
breast]  Poor  old  mother  —  how  the  misery  of  these 
three  months  has  changed  you ! 

The  Mother.  My  poor  boy,  how  you  must  have 
suffered ! 

Etchepare.     That  woman ! 

The  Mother.     Yes,  they  've  just  been  telling  me. 

Etchepare.  For  ten  years  I  've  lived  with  that 
thief  —  that  wretched  woman !  How  she  lied !  Ah ! 
When  I  heard  that  judge  say  to  her,  "  You  were  con- 
victed of  theft  and  comi^licity  with  your  lover,"  and 
when,  before  all  those  people,  she  owned  to  it  —  I  tell 
you,  mummy,  I  thought  the  skies  were  falling  on  my 
head  —  and  when  she  admitted  she  'd  been  that  man's 
mistress  —  I  don't  know  just  what  happened  —  nor 
which  I  would  have  killed  soonest  —  the  judge  who 
said  such  things  so  calmly  or  her  who  admitted  them 
with  her  back  turned  to  me.  And  then  I  was  on  the 
point  of  confessing  myself  guilty  —  I,  an  innocent  man 
—  in  order  not  to  learn  any  more  —  to  get  away  —  but 
I  thought  of  you  and  the  children !  [A  long  pause] 
Come !  We  've  got  to  make  up  our  minds  what  we  're 
going  to  do.     You  left  them  at  home? 

The    Mother.     No.     I    had    to    send    them    to    our 


322  The  Red  Robe  Act  IV 

cousin  at  Bayonne.  We  've  no  longer  got  a  home  — 
we  've  nothing  —  we  are  ruined.  Besides,  I  've  got  a 
horror  of  this  place  now.  The  women  edge  away  and 
make  signs  to  one  another  when  I  meet  them,  and  in 
the  church  they  leave  me  all  alone  in  the  middle  of  an 
empty  space.  Already  —  I  had  to  take  the  children 
away  from  school. 

Etchepare.     My  God! 

The  Mother.  No  one  would  speak  to  them.  One 
day  Georges  picked  a  quarrel  with  the  biggest,  and 
they  fought,  and  as  Georges  got  the  better  of  it,  the 
other,  to  revenge  himself,  called  him  the  son  of  a 
gallows-bird. 

Etchepare.     And  Georges? 

The  Mother.  He  came  home  crying  and  would  n't 
go  out  of  doors.  It  was  then  that  I  sent  them  away 
to  Bayonne. 

Etchepare.  That 's  what  we  '11  do.  Go  away. 
We  '11  go  and  fetch  them.  To-morrow  or  to-night  I 
shall  be  with  you  again.  There  are  emigration  com- 
panies there  —  boats  to  America  —  they  '11  send  all  four 
of  us  —  they  '11  give  us  credit  for  the  voyage  on  account 
of  the  children. 

The  Mother.  And  when  they  ask  for  their 
mother  — 

Etchepare  [after  a  pause]  You  '11  tell  them  she  's 
dead. 

Scene    IV: — Yanetta   is   shown   in. 

Yanetta  [to  someone  outside]  Very  good,  Mon- 
sieur.     [The  door  is  closed] 

The  Mother  [without  looking  at  Yanetta]  Then 
I  '11  go. 

Etchepare  [the  same]  Yes.  I  shall  see  you  again 
to-night  or  down  there  to-morrow. 

The  Mother.     Very  well. 


Act  IV  The  Red  Robe  323 

Etchepare.  Directly  you  get  there  you  '11  go  and 
find  out  about  the  day  and  hour. 

The  Mother.     Very  well. 

Etchepare.     Till  to-morrow  then. 

The  Mother.  To-morrow.  [She  goes  out  without 
glancing  at  Yanetta^ 

Yanetta  [takes  a  few  steps  totvards  her  husband, 
falls  on  her  knees,  and  clasps  her  hands.  In  a  low  voice^ 
Forgive  me ! 

Etchepare.     Never! 

Yanetta.     Don't  say  never! 

Etchepare.     Was  the  judge  lying.'' 

Yanetta.     No  —  he  was  n't  lying. 

Etchepare.     You  wretched  thing ! 

Yanetta.  Yes,  I  am  a  wretched  thing!  Forgive 
me! 

Etchepare.     Kill  you  rather!     I  could  kill  you! 

Yanetta.     Yes,  yes  !     But  forgive  me ! 

Etchepare.  You're  just  a  loose  woman  —  a  loose 
woman  from  Paris,  with  no  honor,  no  shame,  no  hon- 
esty even ! 

Yanetta.     Yes  !     Insult   me  —  strike   me  ! 

Etchepare.  For  ten  years  you  have  been  lying  to 
me! 

Yanetta.  Oh,  how  I  wished  I  could  have  told  you 
everything !  Oh,  how  many  times  I  began  that  dread- 
ful confession !  I  never  had  courage  enough.  I  was 
always  afraid  of  your  anger,  Pierre,  and  of  the  pain 
I  should  cause  you  —  I  saw  you  were  so  happy ! 

Etchepare.  You  came  from  up  there,  fresh  from 
your  vice,  fresh  from  prison,  and  you  chose  me  to  be 
your  gull. 

Yanetta.    My  God,  to  think  he  believes  that ! 

Etchepare.  You  brought  me  the  leavings  of  a 
swindler  —  the  leavings  of  a  swindler  —  and  you  stole. 


324  The  Red  Robe  Act  IV 

in  my  housC;,  the  place  of  an  honest  woman!  Your 
lies  have  brought  the  curse  of  God  on  my  family  and 
it's  you  who  are  the  cause  of  everything.  The  mis- 
fortune that 's  just  befallen  us,  it 's  you  who  are  the 
cause  of  it,  I  tell  you!  You're  a  pest,  accursed, 
damned!  Don't  say  another  word  to  me!  Don't 
speak  to  me ! 

Yanetta.  Have  you  no  pity,  Pierre?  Do  you  sup- 
pose I  'm  not  suffering? 

Etchepare.  If  you  are  suffering  you  've  deserved 
it !  You  have  n't  suffered  enough  yet.  But  what  had 
I  ever  done  to  you  that  you  should  choose  me  for  your 
victim  ?  What  did  I  ever  do  that  I  should  have  to  bear 
what  I'm  suffering?  You've  made  me  a  coward  — 
you  've  lowered  me  almost  to  your  own  level  —  I  ought 
to  have  been  able  to  put  you  out  of  my  mind  and  my 
heart  already !  And  I  can't !  And  I  'm  suffering  tor- 
ture, terrible  torture  —  for  I  'm  suffering  through  the 
love  I  once  had  for  you.  You  —  you  were  everything 
to  me  for  ten  years  —  my  whole  life.  You  've  been 
everything,  everything!  And  now  the  one  hope  left 
me  is  that  I  may  forget  you! 

Yanetta.     Oh,  forgive  me! 

Etchepare.     Never!     Never! 

Yanetta.  Don't  say  that  word  —  only  God  has  the 
right  to  say  —  never !  I  will  come  back  to  you.  I  '11 
be  only  like  the  head  servant  —  no,  the  lowest  if  you 
like!  I  won't  take  my  place  in  the  home  again  until 
you  tell  me  to. 

Etchepare.  We  have  no  house;  we  have  no  home. 
Nothing  is  left  now !  And  I  tell  you  again  it 's  your 
fault  —  and  it 's  because  you  used  to  be  there,  in  the 
mother's  place,  my  mother's  place,  you,  a  lie  and  a 
sacrilege  —  it's  because  of  that  that  misfortune  has 
overtaken  us ! 

Yanetta.     I  swear  to  you  I  'd  make  you  forget  it  all 


Act  IV  The  Red  Robe  325 

in  time  —  I  'd  be  so  humble,  so  devoted,  so  repentant. 
And  wherever  you  go  I  shall  follow  you.  Pierre  — 
think,  your  children  still  need  me. 

Etchepare.  My  children !  You  shall  never  see  them 
again !  You  shall  never  speak  to  them.  I  won't  have 
you  kiss  them.     I  won't  have  you  even  touch  them ! 

Yanetta  [changing  her  tone^  Ah,  no,  not  that,  not 
that !  The  children  !  No,  you  are  wrong  there  !  You 
can  deprive  me  of  everything  —  you  can  put  every  im- 
aginable shame  upon  me  —  you  can  force  me  to  beg 
my  bread  —  I  '11  do  it  willingly.  You  need  n't  look 
at  me  —  you  need  n't  speak  to  me  except  to  abuse  me  — 
you  can  do  anything,  anything  you  like.  But  my  chil- 
dren, my  children  —  they  are  mine,  the  fruit  of  my  body 

—  they  are  still  part  of  me  —  they  are  blood  of  my 
blood  and  bone  of  my  bone  forever.  You  might  cut 
off  one  of  my  arms,  and  my  arm  would  be  a  dead  thing, 
and  no  part  of  myself  any  more,  but  you  can't  stop 
my  children  being  my  children. 

Etchepare.  You  have  made  yourself  unworthy  to 
keep  them. 

Yanetta.  Unworthy !  What  has  unworthiness  to 
do  with  it?  Have  I  ever  failed  in  my  duty  to  them? 
Have  I  been  a  bad  mother  ?  Answer  me !  I  have  n't, 
have  I  ?  Well  then,  if  I  have  n't  been  a  bad  mother, 
my  rights  over  them  are  as  great  as  ever  they  were ! 
Unworthy !     I  might  be  a  thousand  times  more  guilty 

—  more  unworthy,  as  you  call  it  —  but  neither  you,  nor 
the  law,  nor  the  priests,  nor  God  himself  would  have 
the  right  to  take  them  from  me.  I  have  been  to  blame 
as  a  wife,  it 's  possible,  but  as  a  mother  I  've  nothing 
to  reproach  myself  with.  Well  then  —  well  then  —  no 
one  can  steal  them  from  me !  And  you,  who  could 
think  of  such  a  thing,  you  're  a  wretch !  Yes,  it 's  to 
avenge  yourself  that  you  want  to  part  me  from  them ! 
You're    just    a    coward!     Just    a    man!     There's    no 


326  The  Red  Robe  Act  IV 

fatherhood  left  in  your  heart  —  you  don't  think  of  them. 
Yes  —  you  are  lying  —  I  tell  you^  you  are  lying !  When 
you  say  I  'm  not  worthy  to  bring  them  up  you  're  lying ! 
It 's  only  a  saying  —  only  words.  You  know  it  is  n't 
true  —  you  know  I  've  nourished  them,  cared  for  them, 
loved  them,  consoled  them,  and  I  have  taught  them  to 
say  their  prayers  every  night,  and  I  would  go  on  doing 
so.  You  know  that  no  other  woman  will  ever  fill  my 
place  —  but  that  makes  no  difference  to  you.  You  for- 
get them  —  you  want  to  punish  me,  so  you  want  to 
take  them  from  me.  I  'm  justified  in  saying  to  you 
that  it 's  an  act  of  cowardly  wickedness  and  a  vile 
piece  of  vengeance !  Ah !  The  children !  You  want 
to  gamble  with  them  now.  No  —  to  take  them  away 
from  me  —  think,  Pierre,  think ;  it  is  n't  possible,  what 
you  are  saying ! 

Etchepare.  You  are  right;  I  am  revenging  myself! 
What  you  think  an  impossibility  is  done  already.  My 
mother  has  taken  the  children  and  gone  away  with 
them. 

Yanetta.     I  shall  find  them  again, 

Etchepare.     America  is  a  big  country. 

Yanetta.     I  shall  find  them  again! 

Etchepare.  Then  I  shall  tell  them  why  I  have  taken 
them  away  from  you ! 

Yanetta.  Never !  Never  that !  I  '11  obey  you,  but 
swear  — 

The  recorder  enters. 

The  Recorder.  Etchepare,  come  and  sign  your 
discharge.     You  will  be  released  at  once. 

Yanetta.  Wait  a  moment,  Monsieur,  wait  a 
moment.  [To  Etchepare^  I  agree  to  separation  if  I 
must.  I  will  disappear  —  you  will  never  hear  of  me 
again.  But  in  return  for  this  wicked  sacrifice  swear 
solemnly  that  you  will  never  tell  them. 

Etchepare.     I  swear. 


Act  IV  The  Red  Robe  327 

Yanetta.  You  swear  never  to  tell  them  anything 
that  may  lessen  their  ai^ection  for  me? 

Etchepare.      I  swear. 

Yanetta.  Promise  me  too  —  I  beg  you,  Pierre  —  in 
the  name  of  our  happiness  and  my  misery  —  promise 
to  keep  me  fresh  in  their  memory  —  let  them  pray  for 
me,  won't  you? 

Etchepare.     I  swear  it. 

Yanetta.     Then  go  —  my  life  is  done  with. 

Etchepare.     Good-bye. 

He  goes  out  with  the  recorder.  At  the  door  the  latter 
meets  Mouzon. 

The  Recorder  [to  Etchepare]  They  are  coming  to 
show  you  the  way  out. 

The  Recorder  [to  Mouzon]  The  woman  Etchepare 
is  there. 

MouzoN.  Ah,  she 's  there.  Monsieur  Vagret  has 
been  speaking  of  her.  Well,  I  withdraw  my  com- 
plaint; I  ask  nothing  better  than  that  she  shall  be 
set  at  liberty.  Now  that  I  am  a  Councillor  I  don't 
want  to  be  coming  back  from  Pau  every  week  for  the 
examination.     Proceed   with  the   necessary   formalities. 

Scene    V:  —  Mouzon,    Yanetta,   the  recorder. 

MouzoN.  Well  —  in  consideration  of  the  time  you 
have  been  in  custody,  I  am  willing  that  you  should  be 
set  at  liberty  —  provisional  liberty.  I  may,  perhaps, 
even  withdraw  my  complaint  if  you  express  regret  for 
having  insulted  me. 

Yanetta  [calmly]  I  do  not  regret  having  insulted 
you. 

MouzoN.     Do  you  want  to  go  back  to  prison? 

Yanetta.  My  poor  man,  if  you  only  knew  how 
little  it  matters  to  me  whether  I  go  to  prison  or  not ! 

MouzoN.     Why? 


328  The  Red  Robe  Act  IV 

Yanetta.  Because  I  have  nothing  left,  neither 
house,  nor  home,  nor  husband,  nor  children.  [She  looks 
at  him]     And  —  I  think  —  I  think  — 

MouzoN.     You  think? 

Yanetta.  I  think  it  is  you  who  are  the  cause  of  all 
the  trouble. 

MouzoN.  You  are  both  acquitted,  aren't  you? 
What  more  do  you  ask? 

Yanetta.  We  have  been  acquitted,  it  is  true.  But 
all  the  same,  I  am  no  longer  an  honest  woman  —  neither 
to  my  husband,  nor  to  my  children,  nor  to  the  world. 

MouzoN.  If  anyone  reproaches  you  with  the  penalty 
inflicted  upon  you  formerly,  if  anyone  makes  any  il- 
lusion to  the  time  you  have  spent  in  custody  under 
remand,  you  have  the  right  to  prosecute  the  offender 
in  the  courts.     He  will  be  punished. 

Yanetta.  Well !  It  is  because  someone  reproached 
me  with  that  old  conviction  that  my  husband  has  taken 
my  children  from  me.  That  someone  is  a  magistrate. 
Can  I  have  him  punished? 

MouzoN.     No. 

Yanetta.     Why  not?     Because  he  is  a  magistrate? 

MouzoN.     No.     Because  he  is  the  law. 

Yanetta.  The  law!  [Violently]  Then  the  law 
is  wicked,  wicked ! 

MouzoN.  Come,  no  shouting,  no  insults,  please. 
[To  the  recorder]  Have  you  finished?  Then  go  to 
the  oflSce  and  have  an  order  made  out  for  her  dis- 
charge. 

Yanetta.  I  'm  no  scholar ;  I  Ve  not  studied  the  law 
in  books,  like  you,  and  perhaps  for  that  very  reason 
I  know  better  than  you  what  is  just  and  what  is  not. 
And  I  want  to  ask  you  a  plain  question:  How  is  the 
law  going  to  give  me  back  my  children  and  make  up 
to  me  for  the  harm  it 's  done  me  ? 

MouzoN.     The  law  owes  you  nothing. 


Act  IV  The  Red  Robe  329 

Yanetta.  The  law  owes  me  nothing!  Then  what 
are  you  going  to  do  —  you,  the  judge? 

MouzoN.     A  magistrate  is  not  responsible. 

Yanetta.  Ah,  you  are  not  responsible!  So  you  can 
arrest  people  just  as  you  like,  just  when  you  fancy, 
on  a  suspicion  or  even  without  a  suspicion;  you 
can  bring  shame  and  dishonor  on  their  families;  you 
can  torture  the  unhappy,  ferret  into  their  past  lives, 
expose  their  misfortunes,  dig  up  forgotten  offences, 
offences  which  have  been  atoned  for  and  which  go  back 
to  ten  years  ago;  you  can  make  use  of  your  skill,  your 
tricks  and  lies,  and  your  cruelty  to  send  a  man  to 
the  foot  of  the  scaffold,  and  worse  still,  you  can  drive 
people  into  taking  a  mother's  children  away  from  her  — 
and  after  that  you  say,  like  Pontius  Pilate,  that  you 
are  n't  responsible !  Not  responsible !  Perhaps  you 
are  n't  responsible  in  the  eyes  of  this  law  of  yours, 
since  you  tell  me  you  are  n't,  but  in  the  eyes  of  pure 
and  simple  justice,  the  justice  of  decent  people,  the 
justice  of  God,  before  that  I  swear  you  are  responsible, 
and  that  is  why  I  am  going  to  call  you  to  account ! 

She  sees  on  Mouzon's  desk  the  dagger  which  he  uses 
as  a  paper-knife.  He  turns  his  back  on  her.  She 
seizes  the  knife  and  puts  it  down  again. 

MouzoN.      I  order  you  to  get  out  of  here. 

Yanetta.  Listen  to  me.  For  the  last  time  I  ask 
you  —  what  do  you  think  you  can  do  to  make  up  to 
me  —  to  give  me  back  all  I  've  lost  through  your  fault ; 
what  are  you  going  to  do  to  lessen  my  misery,  and 
how  do  you  propose  to  give  me  back  my  children.'' 

MouzoN.  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  you.  I  owe  you 
nothing. 

Yanetta.  You  owe  me  nothing!  You  owe  me  more 
than  life  —  more  than  everything.  My  children  I  shall 
never  see  again.  What  you  'vc  taken  from  me  is  the 
happiness  of  every  moment  of  the  day  —  their  kisses 


330  The  Red  Robe  Act  IV 

at  night  —  the  pride  I  felt  in  watching  them  grow  up. 
Never,  never  again  shall  I  hear  them  call  me  "  mother." 
It 's  as  though  they  were  dead  —  it 's  as  though  you 
had  killed  them.  [She  seizes  the  knife]  Yes  !  That 's 
your  work;  it's  you  bad  judges  have  done  it;  you  have 
nearly  made  a  criminal  of  an  innocent  man,  and  you 
force  an  honest  woman,  a  mother  —  to  become  a 
criminal ! 

She  stabs  him.     He  falls. 

CURTAIN. 


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